Dark Hour of Night
by dansemacabre
Summary: After eight long years, Sarah returns to the Labyrinth only to find that the Goblin King has married... for love. But as it was on her first adventure, Sarah finds that things and people are not always what they seem. JS. Also see prequel, Nocturne.
1. A Storm is Coming

**Plot summary: **_After eight long years, Sarah returns to the Labyrinth only to find that the Goblin King has married... for love. But as it was on her first adventure, Sarah finds that things-- and people-- are not always what they seem. This is a story about unhealthy obsessions, old regrets and second chances.  
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Rated **T** for now, but it is likely that this may change at a later date to **M** due to the content of future chapters.

* * *

**Chapter One: A Storm is Coming**

Twilight was fading when he summoned her, his empty hall lit a sickly yellow with tallow candles dripping in their sconces. Once upon a time, his life had stretched out before him like the boundless sea. Now the last waves beat upon the shore and the years dwindled like the dying day to a thin, pale few. But however little that remained, the man who had once been called Anneas Greycloak would keep fast with all that he had.

On nights such as this, the crown weighed heavy upon his brow, a reminder of all that had passed. A strong gust of wind rattled the shutters and his fingers tightened upon the arm of his throne. _It is not him,_ thought the king. _He will not come for me, and more fool he. _

He held up his hands, gnarled with age, but powerful still. The king had outlived his enemies one by one, a triumph won not in war, but in patience. Always, he waited... waited, and watched. No more.

A log settled on the fire, a brittle crack that echoed in the empty room. From the walls gazed back at him a hundred upon thousand empty sockets, a skull from every sort of beast in his kingdom and more besides. Some were new, the bleached bone a tawny rose in the firelight. Others were nearly as old as Anneas himself, their surfaces a rich, yellowed ivory that gleamed like satin. Each unseeing hollow was an accusation, the silent reproof of the dead to the living.

_To survive is all._

A chill draught whistled through chinks in the wall, sending the bright flames sputtering and acrid smoke drifting to his nostrils. Through a slit in the shutters, he could see dark clouds gathering as the sun slipped from the sky. Soon he would call the thunder and rain, he would summon the wind with a single word. It was not yet time. He had one enemy remaining.

_Soon,_ Anneas promised himself. He too, would be broken.

The king coughed, a rattling, dry sound that he muffled with his sleeve. Sable and ermine cloaked his old bones, bear and wolf hides covered his throne. A fire roared at the end of the great hall, and at his feet burned a small stove, its iron belly glowing with fiery coals. In his youth, he never felt the cold, never flinched at winter's biting edge. Anneas felt both all too keenly now, and he cursed the man responsible.

Quickening footsteps sounded in the hallway, and a young woman entered the hall, the silk of her mantle lined with silverfox. She knelt on the floor upon the matted rushes.

"Your Majesty summoned me."

The king said nothing for a long while, only leaned forward to examine his youngest daughter with a critical eye. Tall and slender, the braided coils of her hair fell to her waist, gleaming in the half-light against her pale skin. Her mouth was set in an impassive line, her lovely face an indecipherable mask.

"You have not your mother's beauty, nor her wit," he mused, his eyes fixed upon her bowed head. "Three daughters she gave me before she abandoned us. Two are lost. You are what remains."

She did not speak or lift her head, but she heard every word. Beautiful, black-haired Lynnara, their mother's favorite with her siren's voice and laughing eyes, vanished without so much as a trace before her first flowering. Gentle Danae with hair the color of sunlight, who now never left her tower room and had to be bound hand and foot, lest she bite her fingers bloody. No one spoke their names now, and she only dared say them in the silence of her room, after all the candles were extinguished.

Firelight silhouetted the king's craggy profile, the hooked nose and hard mouth. When he spoke, it was a croaking whisper.

"If just one of you had been the boy I needed... Just one son, to take up arms at my side in battle and hold this throne after my death." He smiled, and it was terrible to see. "But I sired only daughters, and the weapons of a woman are guile and malice."

The girl at his feet did not move, but her shoulders tensed, fists digging into the folds of her gown. She was ambitious, his daughter with hair the color of mahogany and steel in her spine. Of all his children, she was the most like him.

"Have you learned your lessons well, child?" he asked her, a mocking note in his query. "Well enough to be the poison arrow leased from your father's longbow?"

She lifted her eyes for the first time, and they were a simmering gray like the storm itself. "Well enough, father."

The king sighed, a rasp like steel across stone. "Would that you were a man."

"Command me. You will see that I can do what no man could ever accomplish."

"That could be." He leaned back and stroked his wiry thatch of beard, streaked like iron and ash. "He has very few weaknesses. Given time, you might be one of them."

He bent toward her again, running a finger along the soft ridge of her collarbone. "Very well, my daughter. If you succeed, you may name your reward."

The girl moved away from his touch, her gaze boldly meeting his own. "Tell me what I must do. I will not fail you."

"The Goblin King has dared to stand against me."

He took the girl's chin in his calloused hand.

"You will make him kneel."

* * *

The funeral was a ghastly affair. 

Crimson and white flower arrangements to rival a parade float surrounded the grave plot, and the scent of gardenias was so thick Sarah thought she might choke on it. Standing stiff as a porcelain doll, her black linen dress felt too tight, the collar chafing against her neck in the moist August heat. The flowers she held had begun to wilt.

Above her, the sun cut through the cloud cover in brilliant angles, lighting up the scene in an unearthly yellow. Sarah looked down at the flowers in her hand, the delicate bell-like blooms and bruised leaves. _Lily-of-the-valley._ She couldn't remember if she'd picked it up, or if someone had handed it to her. Her movements automatic and unthinking, she raised the spray to her face and breathed in its scent, frail and sweet.

Standing beside her, a young priest mopped his forehead with a handkerchief, pink-faced and uncomfortable. He touched her shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

Sarah nodded and tried to smile. "I'm fine, Father, thank you."

She wasn't, of course, but there was nothing more Sarah could say. Her mother was dead. Only now did that knowledge feel real, when she stood before the black granite obelisk marking the grave. Each time she closed her eyes, she could feel the weight of it pressing upon her breast, the unyielding stone like ice against her skin. It was a morbid thought, and Sarah pushed it away. She shouldn't be thinking about herself. Linda was gone.

Sarah had been used to not having her mother around. She grew up barely seeing her more than once or twice a year, for Linda could rarely find the time in her busy schedule to visit her ex-husband's family. They'd never been close, and had spoken only infrequently until several months ago.

When she was a child, Sarah collected every publicity photo and magazine clipping of her mother that she could find. She waited up on her birthday for her mother to phone-- inevitably late at night, because Linda always forgot they were in different time zones. It was all reassurance that her mother had not disappeared entirely, that she existed in another world more marvelous and bright than Sarah's own. Her mother might not be around, but she was _there._

And then very suddenly, she wasn't anywhere. Sarah felt oddly alone, as if something had gone missing and she didn't know what it was. It was a puzzle with a piece missing, a chandelier with one light bulb burned out. Everything seemed fine until you examined it up close. Karen and her father had offered to come with her, and now she regretted turning them down. There was no one else, Sarah was all the family that Linda had.

The sound of a car door slamming broke her reverie, and Sarah looked up. She saw a world swimming in scarlet and a long line of celebrity well wishers clothed in black, looking sleek and dangerous. A damp strand of hair stuck to her cheek and the heat made her vision swim. For one brief moment, the outlines of sharply tailored Dior and Armani blurred, then dissolved. In their place she saw brightly gowned dancers, whirling in perfect time to a music box melody...

_No._ Sarah dug her nails into the palm of her hand, and the scene swam back into focus. Something hot stung her eyelids, and she swiped at it with the back of her hand. Eight years was a long time, but on some days it didn't feel long enough.

"Get a grip, Williams." she said under her breath.

No one paid her any attention, and it was as if she hadn't spoken at all. Sarah forced herself to open her fingers, to let the spray of flowers fall. She had to let it go.

Within minutes, the lilies were trampled into the grass, crushed under a careless stiletto. Sarah did not care. This was empty ritual and she felt numb inside, the bitterness rising in her until she wanted to scream. It looked for all the world like another of her mother's endless film premieres, save for the rosewood coffin nestled in its bed of emerald astroturf, waiting to be lowered into the ground.

But this was the kind of tribute Linda would've wanted: the rich and famous lined up to see her one last time, the queue of limos stretching past the cemetery gates. She would've laughed to see movie stars gingerly picking their way across the lawn, eyes darting this way and that to avoid--or seek out-- the waiting horde of photographers. _And looking for the open bar, no doubt._ Sarah could almost hear her mother's throaty laugh. Oh, yes. Linda would've thought it the event of the year.

Sarah rarely called her mother, even in her own thoughts. Linda had once scolded her for doing so, and as a little girl, Sarah was happy to oblige. "Mother" was too tame of a word to refer to the wild, gorgeous Linda Williams. For as long as she could remember, her mother was always off filming this or that movie, or jetting off to London and Paris. At the time, Sarah envied her glamorous life and even wanted it for her own.

Now it struck her how artificial it all was, as if they were standing on a movie set. Any minute now, a director would yell "Cut!" and the story would end. The artfully groomed mourners would disperse and drift away to their trailers for touch-ups. The crew would tear down the set to make way for another. But this was real, and Linda would never again lounge in her dressing room in a silk robe, chattering away on her cell phone about the latest Hollywood gossip.

Sarah swayed where she stood. _This is stupid_, she thought through clenched teeth. _Y__ou didn't matter to her. Why should she matter to you?_

And yet, she was glad to feel something at last. Linda had never been an attentive parent, but she was her mother and Sarah should feel sad. Shouldn't she? Was she a monster to feel nothing at all except for this strange, hollow sensation?

When Linda had breezed back into her life, she hadn't known what to feel then, either. Her mother offered no explanation for the years she'd been absent, not a single mention about the ugly divorce from Sarah's father. Instead, she'd greeted her daughter like an old friend, inviting her out for lunch at some chic tearoom downtown or dropping by Sarah's dorm room unexpectedly with a box of pastries in hand. It was as if the distant years had never existed, as it mother and daughter had always been best of friends.

She was such an extraordinary actress that anyone might've been taken in by the grand masquerade. But Sarah had learned all about reality and artifice when she was fourteen years old. She had learned to distrust the motives of people who said they wanted you... needed you.

Once again, memory betrayed her and a burning knot rose in her throat. Sarah swallowed it back down. _Forget about the Labyrinth. Eight years is too long for..._ Too long for what? She refused to complete the thought and stubbornly focused back on her surroundings.

As people filed past, Sarah recognized a few faces: a teary-eyed young starlet only a few years older than she was and clutching her designer purse as if it were a life preserver, an aging rocker, a famous photographer who'd once taken an infamous photo of Linda posed in Central Park... and scores of her mother's old boyfriends with younger women trailing behind them. Each one was or had been Somebody, but they were nobody and nothing to Sarah. Most of them hadn't even known Linda Williams had a child.

_Surviving daughter,_ Sarah thought. That's what she did... survive.

But sometimes only just.

* * *

The woman dusted the wooden tabletop with a generous scattering of flour and slapped down the ball of dough, kneading it fiercely with the heels of her hands. Fold and press, quarter turn, then fold and press again, the regular rhythm of it soothing her as it always did. It was just after dawn and cool, but the kitchen was already warm with the woodfire roaring as a new batch of loaves went in. Several smaller rounds were cooling at the other end of the table, and the whole room filled with the scent of yeast and fresh-baked bread. 

At the soft patter on the staircase, she paused and wiped her hands on her apron. Moving quickly, she set on the table a small pot of strawberry preserves, a crock of butter, and a dainty silver knife. Last was a blue and white checked napkin, which she laid carefully by them before turning back to her bread.

"You are late, sir knight," she said curtly, not looking up as her visitor entered the kitchens. "As penance, you must put on the kettle yourself."

Sir Didymus swept off his hat in a stately bow, which she ignored. "My lady must forgive me, but the king's business waits for no man, knight though he be."

"The king is yet abed at this hour, as you should be... Unless my eyes deceived me when they spotted you entering the postern gate a few hours before dawn."

"They did not," admitted the little knight as he busied himself with the kettle. "I have been away half the night. But all the more reason to break my fast in the company of a lovely lady."

The woman snorted at that. Her black hair had long since turned iron gray streaked with silver and she wore it up in a severe knot. Her dress was a serviceable brown, now spattered with flour. She had no illusions about how she looked in the early morning, sleeves rolled up and buried to the elbows in bread dough.

"Flatterer." she accused her friend dryly. "Someone told you I plan on making blackberry tarts today." 

"Thy harsh words wound me," said Sir Didymus, splitting open a bun with his knife and slathering the insides with butter. "Yet I confess that such knowledge had reached my hearing. I have my informants."

"You would not be the king's eyes and ears if you did not."

Her amiable remark was made in a light tone, but the conversation fell silent. In the background, the kettle burbled over the fire. They had an understanding, she and the king's most loyal servant. All the same, some things were best left unspoken. She finished shaping the loaf and set it on a flat wooden board. Picking up a sharp knife, she slashed it three times across the top.

When the kettle began its low whistle, she retrieved it and poured for both of them. Only then did she sit on the stool across from Sir Didymus, wrapping her long fingers around the cup. Her hands ached, not from the activity, but from something else entirely. Dawn broke clear and bright, but she knew from experience that could change, the painful twinge in her bones foretold it. _A storm is coming._

When she spoke, the words were chosen carefully. Even here, you could never be sure who might be listening.

"Your duties are taxing," she said, blowing on her tea to cool it. "You must take care not to overreach your strength."

Sir Didymus' eyes sparkled as he took another bun and stirred a heaping spoonful of sugar into his steaming mug. "My lady is kind. I am always careful."

"Every night, you go about the king's business. And yet I do not think you have found what you seek."

"Not yet." admitted the knight. "But it will be done. If not by me, then another."

"One might say it is too large of a task for one person to handle alone, no matter how loyal or brave."

He took a gulp of his tea. "One might say that."

Didymus could be as slippery as an eel if he cared to be, and these were dangerous times. An uneasy quiet reigned the room again while the woman considered her next words. She swirled the mug of tea, watching as the leaves settled to the bottom again. Sipping slowly, she met his eyes over the rim of her cup.

"Help often arrives when we least expect it, sir knight."

"So it does," agreed Sir Didymus as he wiped crumbs from his whiskers. "Yet my grandfather always said that to wait for gifts from the gods was like waiting for cows to give beer."

That surprised a short laugh from her, a rare thing. "Your grandfather sounds like a scoundrel, but a wise one."

She set her cup aside and went back to her work. The running of the Goblin King's household was a task she excelled at, but it was also one that required constant vigilance. The court would soon rise and call for their breakfasts. Then there was the noon meal to prepare, more baking to be done, and the evening meal to supervise. She was up a full hour before any of her kitchen staff, but already she could hear the clatter of feet approaching. Even Didymus would soon leave to report to his king, and she had her own business to attend to.

While she enjoyed his friendship, it was just as well. The little fox saw much, and there were things she would not have him see. Sir Didymus pushed back his stool and carefully re-folded his napkin. There was a suspicious bulge in his coat pocket the shape of a bun. The knight nodded his thanks as he left, but turned as if to make a casual observation.

"You have baked a few extra loaves, my lady."

"Yes." The woman paused and covered the ball of dough with a damp cloth, setting the wooden board aside so it could rise. "I believe we shall soon have company."

* * *

Sarah kicked off her sensible black shoes, holding them in one hand as she climbed the last flight of stairs. The funeral had lasted far longer than she thought it would, and now the late afternoon sun slanted through the window on the landing, warming the floorboards underfoot. Rummaging in her purse for her keys, she hesitated just a moment before opening the door. 

The apartment was a wonderful discovery, tucked away in a quiet neighborhood two blocks from the nearest subway stop. It had a tiny galley kitchen and even tinier bathroom, but the living room was spacious and her bedroom had a view of a gated park across the street with spreading oaks and stone benches.

That it lacked an elevator meant Sarah had to walk up four flights of steps, but she was getting accustomed to it. It made her feel like she was a child again, pretending she was a princess in a tower. Linda found it for her not three weeks before, and it still smelled of new paint.

Boxes of books lined the walls of her living room with more boxes piled under the window that led to the fire escape. Her father drove up the weekend before to bring her things from the attic, neatly labeled in Karen's handwriting. Sarah threw her shoes into the closet, lifting her hair off the back of her neck and sighing. The air conditioner was on the blink again, today of all days. Taking a bottle of water from the fridge, she pressed it against her hot cheek briefly before opening it and drinking down half its contents in one long swallow.

Sarah was thirsty, but forced herself to admit that she was stalling to avoid going back to the bedroom and facing what was there. She hadn't slept well the night before. Even with the light on, she dozed fitfully and jumped at every single noise. All because of the mirror.

It wasn't strange for Linda to leave her something in her will. The same afternoon, fat envelopes full of old letters and photographs arrived, then a box of her mother's jewelry accompanied by a cordial missive from her mother's lawyers. For someone whose life was ruled by the impulse of the moment, Linda was surprisingly meticulous about having everything planned out to the last detail. But she'd left no instruction or explanations about the mirror.

Sarah walked across the apartment, stopping before the bedroom door. It was cracked ajar and she pushed it open and stood in the doorway, the water bottle dangling forgotten in her hand. It was there, waiting for her just as it had since its arrival yesterday afternoon.

The package was so large that it took three men to wrestle it up the stairs. There was no space in the living room for it, so they hauled it into the bedroom and propped it against the wall opposite her bed. She'd left it sitting there untouched for the entire day, bound up with cloth, twine and brown paper.

That wasn't what Sarah had intended, but despite all her curiosity, she couldn't bring herself to tear off the wrappings and see what lay underneath. There was no real reason why, but as Sarah looked at the tangled whorl of knots that held it together, she had an inexplicable feeling that doing so would... change things. Sarah hated change.

The afternoon came and went and still she left it alone, the bulky heft of it an awkward intrusion in her tiny bedroom. Instead she cleaned the kitchen, sorted through her mother's old photographs, laid out the black dress she'd wear to the funeral-- anything that kept her out of the bedroom.

When the day was nearly gone and the sun sank behind the skyline, she could ignore it no longer. She dug out an old kitchen knife and painstakingly cut the bindings, sawing through the knot with care. They fell with scarcely a rustle, like a snake shedding its skin. Dust lay thick as mold on the object beneath, and Sarah picked up a piece of cloth to to wipe it clean...

Antique glass and dark wood, her reflection like a ghostly shadow on its silvered surface.

_Mirror, mirror, on the wall..._

Sarah didn't like it. Her instant aversion was nothing she could explain, not with logic. It was just the way it looked, like something not of this world. It looked like something from _that_ place... She was reluctant to think about the word, even though somewhere in the boxes her father brought her was a well-worn book bound in faded red leather. _ The Labyrinth._ But that was ridiculous. How could something from there get here?

_You did,_ came a sly little admonition. _There and back again._

"Not by UPS." she said to her empty apartment.

Sarah's voice echoed flatly back at her and she drank the rest of the water, now grown tepid in her hand. Dropping the empty bottle in the wastebasket, Sarah took cautious step into her bedroom. Dim and airless, the room itself seemed to wait. The light had turned a murky ochre that foretold a summer storm, the mote-filled beams illuminating the room in weak shafts. Her breathing sounded loud to her own ears, as if she'd run for miles. The mirror leaned against the wall, looking for all the world like a dark doorway that beckoned.

Steeling herself, Sarah ran her hand over the frame. It smelled of the lemon oil polish she'd used the day before, the wood a dark mahogany with a honeyed grain that seemed to pick up the fading light filtering through the curtains. An ornate design of twisting tree branches and oak leaves had been carved into it, with grotesque little faces peeping out here and there.

Something about it unsettled her deeply. Even with the heat of the day baking the bricks of the building, the frame felt unusually warm to the touch, like a living thing. Sarah half-expected it to move beneath her fingers, and she pulled back in haste.

The velvet it had been bundled in was the color of old blood, it lay pooled on the carpet. Kneeling, she gathered up the fragile folds. She rubbed a piece of it against her cheek, the cloth worn smooth with age. It smelled of dust and roses, the strange and the shockingly familiar. _No._ Sarah let it drop from nerveless fingers and dug the heels of her hands into her temples, now throbbing. The blood pounded through her veins until it was a dull roar in her skull. _Stop it. Just... stop._

To disguise the trembling of her hands, she picked up a length of twine and wound it tightly around her fingers. Her unease did not lessen. _It's a just mirror_, she thought. _And an ugly one at that._ Unmindful of her thoughts, the mirror sat there, implacable and mysterious as when she'd first cut the strings and let the wrappings fall.

Sarah turned her back on it and opened the window, trying in vain to capture even the barest wisp of a breeze. The air outside was heavy with the scent of the coming rain. As she struggled with the ancient sash, she thought she saw something, a dark shape that flickered across the mirror's surface. Sarah whirled around, but there was nothing. _A trick of the light._ Or the reflection of the curtain's edge, fluttering sluggishly in the summer wind.

She had a growing sense of dread that it had been neither. Not for the first time, she wondered if the mirror could be haunted. _Don't be ridiculous,_ Sarah lectured herself. _You're too old to believe in ghosts._

But ghosts could come in many forms, not just the spirits of the undead. They could come in the form of unanswered questions, unspoken regrets, and paths not taken. The grim possibilities lay heavy on her mind, pressing down upon with the weight of an entire world...

Knees suddenly weak, she slid to the floor, tucking her legs beneath her and leaning back against the foot of the bed. It wasn't just the mirror with its fey little faces and the way it seemed to absorb all the light in the room-- the whole day had been full of unwanted reminders of a time she'd rather forget.

Sometimes you did everything you could to let go of the past.

But sometimes the past wouldn't let you go.

* * *

** Author's Notes: **_Chapter title was taken from the first track in Howard Shore's **Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King** soundtrack. All three movie soundtracks are gorgeous, but I believe the last may be my favorite-- a wonderfully evocative work both light and dark.  
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_I realize this first chapter introduces a lot of new things all at once. Please be assured, the threads will knit together soon enough. In the meantime, feel free to let me know what you thought, good or bad._

_ With the last fanfic, I managed to update quite frequently, sometimes as often as once a week. I'm not sure I'll be able to keep up such a grueling pace this time, but you have my promise that I will never let the story hang in limbo for months on end unless I'm on my deathbed. If you do decide to come along for the ride, then hang on... we have a long, strange trip before us.  
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_Comments/reviews welcome. Review replies (if not made privately) will generally be posted in my livejournal under **dmacabre**.  
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	2. Through the Looking Glass

_**Recap: **An enemy seeks to bring the Goblin King to his knees through treachery and deceit, using his own daughter to bring about Jareth's downfall. Sarah's mother is dead, leaving her a mysterious mirror. And down in the Underground, Sir Didymus speaks with an unnamed woman about his duties and an expected visitor to the Labyrinth..._

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**Chapter Two: Through the Looking Glass**

Sarah couldn't be sure where her life had all gone wrong, but she thought it began back in high school on the day her vanity mirror broke. Everything about that day was strange. Several times in class, she looked up, thinking Mr. Adler had called her name only to find her teacher busily grading papers or out of the room. She hadn't been sleeping well, so she shrugged it off, yawning and promising herself to go to bed earlier that night.

_Hearing voices,_ she thought wryly. _That's usually not a good sign._ But by the time she started walking home, Sarah had already forgotten all about it.

It was the first sunny day in May, blustery and warm. Papers kept flying out of her notebooks and Sarah chased them down, her hair whipping into her eyes. She didn't mind. The air carried the scent of freshly mown grass tinged with the pleasantly sharp odor of wild onion that grew along the sidewalk. The wind thundered against her, billowing out her shirt like a sail until Sarah felt as if she could fly if she were only light enough.

On days like this, she could believe in magic.

Halfway home, a shadow crossed the sun like the gathering of a storm. She looked up, but the only clouds in the sky were small, feathery things that held not a drop of rain. _Odd._ Sarah wasn't a superstitious person, but something about it made her walk faster, wanting to reach the safety of home where she could shut the front door solidly behind her.

As she started up the driveway, something crunched underfoot-- a shard of glass, so brittle the heel of her sneaker ground it to powder. As Sarah wondered where it came from, a stealthy breeze swept by, scattering the silvery dust until nothing remained. Accompanying it was the faintest sound of bell-like laughter.

Sarah flew through the front door and upstairs to her bedroom only to find her stepmother kneeling on the floor, exasperated and cross.

"Don't come in," she exclaimed when Sarah dropped her backpack in the doorway and took a step into the room. "And keep Toby out, too. You'll cut yourselves if you're not careful."

The empty mirror frame lay facedown on the carpet, and glass was everywhere. Each jagged fragment reflected back crazily angled pictures: bits of blue sky dotted with cloud, her books and posters, the startled expression on her face. Every image was endlessly duplicated in miniature, as if she were looking into a hundred splintered views of her bedroom.

"I left the window open while I was vacuuming your room," said Karen, sweeping the mess into a dustpan. "And it was the strangest thing. I swear I only turned my back for a moment, I don't see how it could fall..."

But fallen it had, though there was no sign of what caused the accident and nothing else in her room had been disturbed. Sarah sniffled quietly for days until her father bought her a new mirror, a funky art nouveau piece that Karen found at a dusty antique shop downtown. Sarah loved it.

When night fell, she placed her hand on the glass and... nothing. Hoggle and Ludo did not appear, Sir Didymus was not there to sweep his hat off in greeting. Sarah called all the names she knew, save one. But her friends were nowhere to be seen.

After that, it had all seemed like a dream. Nobody was waiting on the other side of the mirror, fairies did not exist, good or otherwise, and stairs led exactly where they should and nothing more. There were times when life was so ordinary, Sarah began to question her own sanity. If the Labyrinth wasn't real, if there was no proof...

She took down her old posters and games to give to Toby. Her dolls and figurines were wrapped carefully in tissue paper and packed away in the attic. Sarah hoped it would be easier not having the constant reminder of silly imagined adventures that meant more to her than she dared admit. Perhaps the Labyrinth was something best buried and forgotten.

It almost worked. People noticed the change in Sarah, but couldn't begin to guess at the cause. Karen was relieved at the uneasy truce that grew between them, but found herself inexplicably anxious over her stepdaughter's newfound maturity. Sarah's father sighed in regret that his little girl was growing up. Toby said nothing, but he listened intently to every story his sister told him and went to sleep with the stuffed bear named Lancelot each night. Life was... uneventful.

College was a welcome distraction and four years passed in a bookish blur with nothing leaving more than a fleeting impression. After graduation, she'd been home less than a month before an old professor of hers wrangled Sarah a job in an art gallery in the city. Despite her family's protests, she packed everything she could fit into the back of her old Toyota and left home, promising she'd call every week. The boxes in the attic remained there for the time being, there was no room for them.

And that had been that, the husk of her old life shed and a new one emerging, one without labyrinths or haughty goblin kings haunting her dreams. Sarah could've convinced herself that it was all nothing more than a particularly vivid fantasy except...

Every once in a great while, she would turn her head just in time to catch a flash of white wings, swiftly disappearing from view.

* * *

Her aching legs reminded Sarah she'd been sitting on the floor too long. The dress she'd worn to the funeral was bunched up over her knees, and her foot was asleep. This was another bad habit she'd acquired. _You think too much, Williams. And about all the wrong things, like stuff you can't change or mistakes you can't fix._ She pulled herself to her feet and glanced around her quiet room with its bare walls.

Here there was no dad to tease her out of her blue moods, no Toby to make her laugh. She even missed Karen's interfering ways and how her stepmother fussed over every little thing. Things were different here in the city. It was far too easy to lapse into those solitary periods where she went days without speaking more than a handful of words until her voice sounded strange to her own ears. In the city there were always crowds of people, but none of them were ever interested in you. Sarah was always alone.

_It wasn't always that way,_ a voice inside her head reminded her. _Things might have been different if..._ The humid air made her skin sticky, but Sarah still shivered nonetheless. She would not dwell on the past. She could not. _I chose this_, she thought fiercely. _This is the life I wanted._

But sometimes on these still summer evenings when the city was eerily quiet, Sarah could not avoid thinking about what she hadn't chosen. The remembrance made her feel cold inside, a dull lump of regret that sat like a stone in her belly.

She gathered up the crumpled linen folds of her skirt in one damp hand. The open window wasn't helping, the air felt so close Sarah thought it would smother her. _Such an ordinary life, my dear,_ her mother had once admonished her, tapping an elegantly manicured finger on her daughter's cheek. _Are you truly happy with an ordinary life?_

Sarah stood, stripping off her wrinkled dress. Despite the heat, her arms prickled with goosebumps. A ghost of a memory passed over her, its pale shade stealing the warmth from her body.

"No," she whispered to her reflection. "No, I'm not."

* * *

His dreams were dark of late. Full of shadows and an unspoken menace, they fled like wraiths with the coming of dawn. Jareth turned restlessly in bed trying to remember what they had been, but they were too disturbing to recall: rage and incoherent screaming, pain so great he could feel the sympathetic echoes of it in his own aching limbs. Something dangerous was trying to get free. 

Briefly he wondered if it was some omen, but the Goblin King did not truly believe in such portents. It was only a dream, and as the sun stole over the foot of his bed, it was fading quickly from memory.

He rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. The silk still held faint traces of her scent, sweet as the rain. Jareth breathed it in, and a slow smile crept over his lips. Sitting up, he let the sheets slip down his bare torso as he admired the silhouette of the slender woman sitting near the window. She sat with her back to him, braiding her hair and humming quietly. Even as Jareth stretched and let the day's warmth drive out the shadows, he knew she'd felt him watching. She always knew.

"Come to bed." he said, making it a caressing invitation.

She turned and smiled. Jareth loved the way she walked, as if her feet did not truly touch the floor. Her eyes were a cool gray like twilight, and the silk robe she had loosely tied at the waist whispered with each footstep. When she drew close, he pulled her down beside him.

"Beloved," he murmured against her breast. "Let down your hair for me."

Reaching up, she did as he asked, letting the shining brown waves cascade down to cloak them both. Jareth took a strand and wound it around his wrist. Her mouth was soft upon his own, with a surprising heat that spread down through his body. She leaned into his embrace, and the last of his unease dissipated like smoke on the wind, as it always did when she was near.

He pulled away with reluctance, reaching for the goblet on a tray by the bed. The night's sleep had left his throat raw and parched, and the wine slid down his throat like honey. It was not one he'd had before, a pale gold nectar that tasted of summer and ripe peaches...

The Goblin King hesitated, turning the empty goblet over in his hands. He'd had nothing to break his fast, and it was a potent draught. Already a pleasant warmth spread through his chest, familiar and comforting. Yet the taste of it bothered him, and he did not know why.

Jareth brushed a hand over his eyes and was startled to find he was trembling. Setting down the cup quickly, he made a fist to still the movement. He would have a word with his steward about the wine, the Goblin King promised himself. It needed watering, or perhaps another vintage that reminded him less of... he knew not what.

Then Jareth remembered something from the dream, a word that drifted up from his murky recollection. His lips formed it silently, uncertain of its meaning but conscious of the way it rolled over his tongue like it belonged.

"Sarah."

Distracted, he'd spoken it aloud. The word was a spell, as if someone had opened a door in his mind just the slightest crack and let the light and air spill in.

The woman tilted her head to one side. "What is that, my love?"

A cool hand touched his cheek, long fingers stroking his jaw and resting lightly on the spot where his blood now pulsed faster. She turned him to meet her eyes, her smile puzzled and questioning.

With the tiniest of clicks, the door closed.

The Goblin King frowned. There was something he ought to remember, a stray memory that slipped further away the harder he tried to catch hold of it. At last he shrugged.

"Nothing of consequence."

* * *

Lightning snaked across the night sky, bathing the walls of her room in pale electric blue. Thunder rolled in over the rooftops, the sound of it swelling it until it broke like waves upon monoliths of brick and concrete, glass and steel. 

Sarah had left her window open a few inches for the breeze, and now the sheer curtains fluttered wildly in the wind as if twitched by an invisible hand. Outside, the streetlights flickered and went dark. The whole city was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen...

Another crooked streak of lightning illuminated the clouds in violet and gray, followed by the thunder even louder than before. There was a noise like a pebble thrown against the window and a fat pearl of rain struck the sill, followed by another.

Sarah did not notice any of it. Fast asleep with only a light sheet to cover her, she dreamed that she had wings.

_A moonless night, with hours to go before the dawn. This was no mortal land, for nowhere Aboveground was the air so achingly clear and sweet, nowhere in her world did the stars appear so bright and close, as if you could pluck them from their celestial beds like gems of spun light. Below her the landscape unfurled in a blur of mountains and forest, and far behind was a maze of golden stone with a castle rising above it. _

_Frost silvered her wingtips. No, thought Sarah, they were not hers. She was only a passenger in this body, carried along like a leaf on the wind. Though she had no control, she could see through its eyes, black as obsidian and ever watchful. Sarah felt the wash of cool air over its back, heard the smallest movement of prey on the ground below. Her thoughts were her own, though she detected a hint of the Other, ripe with a tang of wild memories that burned and beckoned... _

_Sarah relaxed and let herself go under, shuddering as its hungers took her-- bloodust and the need to rend something limb from limb. The bird whose body she wore wanted to kill and feed, but tightly bound up with those desires were things Sarah did not anticipate: anger, jealousy, loss. It was a wild snarl of emotions, elusive and fey, and they fluttered at the edge of her mind just beyond her grasp. Sarah closed her eyes and reached._

_Images flashed by, bright as sparks thrown off a fire: skimming over treetops like a white ship, the wind so strong it sent soft puffs of dandelion seed whipping past. The open window, calling. A mirror casting back dazzling sunlight, a sudden flurry of alabaster wings and eyes like polished stone. The world falling down... _

_Just as suddenly as they'd come, the images were gone, leaving her bereft and empty._

_She hurt, a weariness that burned in her limbs with every stroke. This bird was not meant to fly so high, to be battered by wintery gales far from home. Air escaped her lungs in a keening hiss and something pierced her breast, sharp as glass. Sarah felt the Other's anguish, the furious beating of wings as the icy shard of pain worked its way deeper into the muscle. Warm liquid trickled past, soaking the downy feathers until they were mottled scarlet and white. _

_It was not so easy now to tell where she ended and the Other began. They bled, they ached, and the rain began to fall. The cold seeped into the delicate hollow of their bones until they were blind to the glittering weave of starlight that hung above and below. It was like dying, and yet part of her welcomed it. _

_Her wings were so heavy now she could scarce lift them, and the water was no longer rolling off her back but soaking through to her skin. Sarah shivered to feel it and the weight that dragged her inexorably down. Yet what was the use in fighting it? The battle had been long and futile, all her dreams come to nothing, all her fears grown monstrous and dark. She could let it go, let it all drift away as if on the tides. To die, to sleep..._

_This isn't me, she reminded herself, the realization coming clumsily to her grasp. We are two, not one, and I am not the Other. A clap of thunder, and then Sarah was tumbling from the sky with the wind howling past as she fell. The stars had gone, their light extinguished in a single stroke. She screamed, talons raking empty air and closing upon nothing. This is a dream, she thought with despair, It isn't real, if I could only wake up..._

_Jagged ridges of stone flashed past, crowned with with caps of ice and snow. They were very close now, the ground was rising to meet them, and Sarah could not get free. The bird's body was a cage, and she threw herself against the bars to no avail. Frantic, she reached out to it and found only numb sorrow. Help me, she begged. Let me go. _

_A wave of confusion swept over the Other, rage at the unlooked for intruder, a shrill cry that pierced the rain and shadows. When Sarah pushed, it pushed back, lashing out at her with a ferocity of crimsoned claw that left her shredded and shaking inside. Locked in silent battle, they fell, each struggling against the other as they spiraled ever downward. To her shock, it spoke, a hoarse mockery of human speech that was slow and labored with exhaustion. If you will not save yourself, I must save you, it said. Go._

_One final push, even stronger than all the rest, and Sarah broke free at last. The pain of separation was savage and sudden, like a piece of heavy parchment being torn in two, like being spat out of the maelstrom. Dizzied from the sudden change, her blurry vision made out the pale body of a owl, wings thrashing uselessly as it hurtled downward. Then one last flash of brilliant white, swallowed by the black abyss. With a jolt, Sarah found herself back in her own body, still reeling from the sensation of falling a very long way... _

_Paved stone lay unforgiveably cold underfoot, a dim corridor. At the far end was a closed door, outlined in light that flickered a sooty crimson. There in the distant dark came the rasping scrape of metal. At the sound of it, Sarah tasted fear, coppery and hot at the back of her throat, her fingers feeling blindly along the wall as she crept closer. Her ears strained for sound-- a low murmured voice, a heavy object flung on the floor, followed by a sharp crack. A wordless cry shattered the unnatural quiet of the passageway, discordant with grief and tainted with madness._

_Something dangerous was trying to get free._

Sarah woke with the cry still echoing in her ears and a choking panic pressing upon her chest. The dream made no sense, but was no less disturbing for all its illogic. Sifting through the images, her head throbbed. A dark hallway, a storm-- it had been raining in her dream, there were mountains and something more... _White wings. _ That memory was enough to chase the sleep from her mind like a dash of cold water.

The lamp she'd left on was dark, the streets outside her window shaded and silent with the buildings crowding in a little closer. Brief flashes of lightning and the distant rumble of thunder told her the storm was passing. Sarah kicked free of the bedsheets tangled around her legs and sat up, fumbling with the drawer of her nightstand. _Just a blackout_, she repeated silently to herself. _It doesn't mean anything. None of this means anything._

The neighborhood had them often, particularly after summer storms. After the first blackout, she'd prepared. With shaking hands, Sarah lit a fat white candle and set it down beside her book and alarm clock. Even such a small flame was comforting. _Nothing can look too awful by candlelight,_ came Linda's voice, a laughing purr.

"Mother knows best," said Sarah under her breath.

The heat of the day had fled at last, leaving everything cool and damp and smelling of rain. Water gurgled down the drainpipes like a waterfall and Sarah pictured it swirling down through the storm drains, washing the streets clean. After such a storm the gutters would be overflowing and carrying bits of debris away, the currents too strong to resist. _Carried along like a leaf on the wind... _

Sarah yelped as the match burned down and singed her fingertips, waving it in the air until the flame went out. The sharp scent of sulfur steadied her, and she dropped the dead match on her nightstand. Sarah sighed and shook her head. _I need a drink._

She didn't dare leave the candle burning as she slept, but she'd never get back to sleep in the dark without help. The sheets still wrapped around her, Sarah picked up the candle, intending to make her way to the kitchen. If the power had not been out long, there was a bottle of wine in the fridge that might still be cool...

After taking two steps, she froze. By flickering candlelight, the mirror looked like a portal and the carvings seemed to writhe and twist as if they would leap right off the frame. The Sarah-in-the-mirror was a colorless shade and as she confronted the her weak reflection, the bright flame of the candle danced and trembled in her hand.

_I'll get rid of you tomorrow,_ she promised. _I don't care what Linda wanted. I'll call Dad and ask him to store it in the attic or sell it to that antique shop, and I'll never have to look at you again._

As if in response came a low growl of thunder, followed by lightning. It lit up the glass until she could see into its depths like a gazing pool. The mirror shone like faded starlight and dark shadows flitted across the surface, eerie and silent in their movement. This time it was no illusion, and Sarah tried to still the whimper that rose in her throat.

_I'm still dreaming. Please, let me be dreaming._

Faint laughter echoed in the distance and like the faded memory of a waltz, music began to play-- soft at first, but growing ever louder until it cut through the thunder like a silver thread. Sarah recognized the melody, and her mouth went dry.

"This isn't real," she said, sounding more determined than she felt. "You don't exist, none of this does."

But if it did... Sarah closed her eyes as another memory rolled over her, swift as a wave.

* * *

"Is something wrong?" 

Her mother leaned against the sink in Sarah's cramped kitchen, fidgeting with the zipper on her purse. On the counter between them was a small bouquet hastily stuck in a glass of water. Sarah touched their long, flat leaves, the flowers that hung like pearls from pale green stems while she waited for Linda to answer.

Her mother laughed and touched her hair, a sure sign she was lying. "Of course not. There doesn't have to be anything wrong for me to want to talk to my own daughter."

Linda's behavior was strange. The month before, she'd turned down a choice film role and abruptly severed her latest romance with an English rock star, a break-up which made all the gossip magazines. As far as Sarah knew, her mother wasn't working at all, though she never said a word about it. When she'd asked, Linda brushed off the question with a flippant remark about secret projects taking up all her time.

But unlike Sarah's childhood, she was never too busy now to call once a day without fail. It was that uncharacteristic punctuality that alarmed Sarah more than anything. Keeping her mother at arm's length had become increasingly difficult, for Linda was nothing if not persistent. Sarah never knew how to behave with this woman, and she suspected she never would.

"It's been good to see you." she said at last, "Just strange, having you here." She nudged the glass with her finger, sliding it over the wet countertop a few inches.

"It's different for me, too. But we could get used to it, couldn't we? Being together again?"

"I'm used to being on my own." Sarah didn't look up, not wanting to see the way her mother's face crumpled.

"You're right, of course." Linda fumbled in her bag for a tissue, trying to hide the wobble in her voice. "I've made some decisions in my life and not all of them were right ones. There are many things I regret, Sarah, never think I don't. But easy or not, I've got to live with the choices I made."

Sarah shrugged, and her reply came out more coldly than she intended.

"Everyone does. It's still better than having to live with the choices others make for us."

Her mother bit her lip then, but she straightened as if steeling herself to go onstage. All the doubts and excuses were gone, only resignation remained.

"The day might come when you're older, darling... Try to understand. We don't always become the people we hoped to be. When life offers you a second chance, you must take it however it comes... and whatever it brings."

With only a slight hesitation, she kissed her daughter on the cheek quickly and left, closing the door behind her with a click.

* * *

When Sarah opened her eyes, the mirror was there, waiting. The light had grown stronger, the music like the whispering song of the wind in the treetops. She took a step closer, holding the candle out before her and shielding it from the draft. 

"Hoggle?" she whispered, "Sir Didymus?"

And then even softer, as though she didn't dare quite say it aloud... "Jareth?"

At the sound of her voice, the mirror's surface changed, rippling like molten metal. She could not shake the disturbing feeling that if she touched it, the glass would dissolve into a silvery mist and she could step through it like a doorway. Sarah blinked.

"I'm going mad." Her nervous laughter sounded out of place in the empty room.

But what if it were possible? What if Hoggle, Didymus and all the others really were just on the other side of the mirror, as they had been before? _A second chance... however it comes. _

Sarah swallowed hard and stretched out her hand. She dared herself to move closer, told herself it would be hard and smooth like any ordinary mirror. The glass was luminous and beautiful in the dark, glowing like a pearl in the ocean depths. Her fingertips stopped a mere fraction of an inch away. _This is crazy. _

Once again came a sly little voice, raised in mocking challenge. _Then touch the mirror, prove to yourself it's perfectly ordinary._

Sarah stepped forward and laid her palm flat on the mirror.

Long ago, she went swimming in an old limestone quarry where the water was too murky to see what lay beneath. She'd sat balanced on a flat rock ledge in the sun, hesitating briefly before pushing off and sliding into the water like an arrow. The shock of having nothing under her feet robbed her of breath. It was as if the lake were bottomless, as if it could swallow her without a single splash or sound and no one would ever know Sarah was gone.

This felt the same.

The glass parted for her like a veil, first her hand, then up to her elbow slipping easily through to the other side. Sarah held the candle so tightly that she didn't even notice when hot wax dripped onto her wrist. _It's real. I'm not dreaming this, not any of it. But it's not too late. I can turn around, go back to my ordinary life..._

_What for?_ demanded the voice, _ There's nothing comforting about being mediocre. You were drowning in that life. Without a little magic, how will you ever get out?_

"Sometimes," she said softly, "The way forward is the way back."

Sarah closed her eyes and stepped through the looking glass.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**_ I assume people will recognize the reference to the work of Lewis Carroll, who wrote both Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass. Sarah's stepping through the mirror is very similar, although what she finds on the other side will be quite different...  
_

_Comments/reviews welcome. Comment replies (if not answered privately) are usually posted to my livejournal under the username **dmacabre**._


	3. At the court of the Goblin Queen

**Author's Notes: **_Eight years have passed since the Labyrinth. Her mother dead, her life turned ordinary,__ Sarah steps through the looking glass, searching for something she can't quite define. _

**Chapter Three: At the Court of the Goblin Queen**

The air was thin in this world between worlds. Deep lungfuls of it made Sarah dizzy, stumbling blind through the dense fog with her hands outstretched. The bedroom floor fell away behind her as if it had never been, and Sarah was inexorably drawn into this place of transition, her body lighter than a gossamer cloud.

There was no time here, but it was so quiet that she could hear the rush of blood through her veins and counted the space of her own heartbeat: one, two... three. Though it felt like she'd drifted in this twilight existence for a lifetime, it lasted only a moment, a brief spell--

And then Sarah was kneeling on a cool marble floor, trying very hard not to be sick.

* * *

Setting down the handles of his wheelbarrow, Hoggle crouched on the grass to check the water level of the lily pond. It had dropped another two fingers' width since the week before, he was sure of it. Fishing a bit of chalk from his pocket, he made a tiny mark on the stone, just above the surface of the water.

That done, Hoggle sat back on his heels. If the levels dropped any lower, he'd have to recruit a squad of goblins to tote buckets from the well on the far side of the castle grounds to refill all the ponds by hand. The dwarf grimanced at the thought. Such a task would take the better part of a day and they'd trample the lavender beds flat and do unspeakable things in the goldfish pools. But it must be done or _she_ would have his head.

"Bugger." he muttered angrily as he got to his feet.

The dwarf looked furtively about, but he was alone in the garden and drew a sigh of relief. If it would only storm, Hoggle thought, glancing at the wilted leaves of the rose bushes nearby, that would be the end to all of his problems. But the clouds had hung low and gray over the Labyrinth for days now, and still there was no rain.

Only the kitchen gardens overseen by the royal housekeeper were lush and blooming as ever. As he leaned against the handles of his wheelbarrow, the cool scent of mint and sage drifted by on the breeze, and just over the wall he could see the tops of the pear trees, branches heavy with fruit. Hoggle grunted in disgust and squinted up at the sky. He'd give his left arm to know how she did it.

A soft whistle caught his attention and the pear tree rustled furiously for a moment before a whiskered nose appeared with a blue velvet hat set jauntily askew over it. Sir Didymus waved a cheerful greeting that nearly sent him tumbling from his hiding place.

"Well met, good fellow!"

"Didymus!" Hoggle exclaimed, "For the love of turnips, I thought you'd gone."

The branch shook a little before Sir Didymus managed to steady himself. "And so I had, but I have returned. Verily, thou art a difficult chap to get a hold of. I regret that we must meet under these less than genteel conditions."

"Better the gardens than the dungeons," Hoggle admitted, "The Queen is... not fond of you. Best you keep a low profile if you won't follow my advice and leave court for a while."

"Impossible, I'm afraid," said Sir Didymus, shaking his head, "But fear not, she will not touch me as long as I am in service of the king, and I will never leave him."

Hoggle sighed and looked around once more to make certain they were truly alone. He leaned his wheelbarrow against the garden wall and climbed on top of it. The stone was old and the mortar crumbling in places, but Hoggle managed to find enough hand and foot holds until he was no more than a few feet from the little knight's perch.

"These aren't safe times, Didymus," he said as quietly as he could, "I wish you wouldn't make trouble, or there are those who will make trouble for you."

The little knight shrugged in apology. "That too, is impossible. I am the king's loyal servant, and I serve the kingdom. I cannot stand by and do nothing while both are in peril."

"Nothing is the way it should be," agreed the dwarf, wary as always, "And even Jareth is not entirely himself these days. There are times when I-- Well, that's neither here nor there. But it isn't for the likes of you and me to interfere."

"If we do not act, then who?"

Hoggle had no answer, it was an old debate between the two friends. He could argue until he was blue in the face, but the little knight would never agree. Hopping down off the garden wall, he dusted his hands off on his breeches and tried to hide how worried he was.

"Just see that you don't make too many enemies, Didymus. Not even _you_ are indestructible. And for pity's sake, get down from that thing before you break your neck or worse. The housekeeper will have your hide if she catches you in her precious pear trees."

He scowled in disapproval at the little knight's answering smile. Hoggle did his best, but it was a losing battle to try and keep Didymus out of trouble.

"The Lady Anasta and I have an understanding," Sir Didymus assured his friend, his composure not the least bit shaken by the perilous swaying of the bough he was perched upon. "Do not trouble thyself, my thoughtful comrade. I will come to no harm by her or the queen."

"Hmmph," said Hoggle gruffly,"So you say. The least you could do is not involve me in whatever mad plans you've dreamed up. Now be off with you, I've got work to do. And... take care, or that furry head of yours will end up on a spike decorating the queen's tower."

There was an old saying that a dwarf who was not cautious was a dead dwarf, and Hoggle was very determined to stay alive. If that meant avoiding anything that even remotely resembled adventure and daring deeds, then he considered it a very small price to pay. Without waiting for a reply, he picked up his wheelbarrow and started briskly back down the garden path.

"Ah, my friend," said Didymus sadly as he watched him go. "There may come a time when thy involvement cannot be avoided."

* * *

Sarah remained there on her hands and knees for a full minute, taking deep breaths until the nausea passed. She was in an alcove just off a large hall, the entrance half-hidden by heavy silk hangings that allowed a narrow shaft of light to enter the small room. It looked like a place for a lovers' tryst with a niche in the wall that held a plush, high-backed seat piled with crimson brocade pillows. Sarah picked one up and hugged it for comfort. The cloth was slick against her skin, scented with musk and sandalwood.

She ran her finger across the arm, leaving a clear trail in the dust. No one had been here for a long time, it had the air of a place forgotten. Turning away from it, Sarah stifled a scream at something lurching toward her from the darkness.

It was only her reflection.

Mounted on the wall behind her was a mirror twin to the one that was propped against her bedroom wall. _No, wait... _

Instead of goblins, in each of the four corners was a human face, women looking both ancient and ageless. One woman laughed, another wept. One raged, her brow furrowed with anger, and the last gazed serenely from the mirror's frame as if looking off into a great distance.

Sarah touched the faces one by one, the rounded cheeks and high, arched foreheads, the lips that seemed almost to speak. Their hair was unbound, long strands blending with the ridged bark of the tree carved into the frame's sides. Slender branches held a dense crown of deeply lobed leaves, clusters of berries that looked so real she could almost taste them.

Sarah ran a tentative hand over the glass, but it was hard and smooth and seemed perfectly ordinary in every way. _So that's it,_ she thought, _I'm here. I'm back. _

Her extraordinary calm did not last long. _Holy shit, what have I done?_

"Don't panic," she said to herself, resisting the urge to pound on the mirror until it let her back through, "I can fix this. There's got to be a way back somehow."

She swallowed hard. _First I have to figure out where the hell I am. _

The opulent furnishings were a far cry from the the castle with its grim towers and broken stone. There was not a cobweb or goblin to be seen. Beyond the alcove, the large hall looked like it belonged in a palace with its black and white polished marble floors and rows of slender columns. A high glass dome ceiling let in the light, each window pane the height of a man and clear as water.

"It doesn't look the same as it did last time," she said, suddenly dubious.

Behind her, the sound of rustling cloth.

Sarah whirled to see a cloaked figure separate from the shadows, face hidden in a deep hood. Glancing quickly around for a weapon and finding none, she backed up against the wall, fists clenched at her sides. Sarah was suddenly very aware that she wore nothing but a faded t-shirt that only reached her knees.

"I can move quickly if I need to," said the stranger in a low voice, "But to appear out of thin air is a fine trick, indeed."

_Not Jareth,_ she realized with a mixture of relief and strange regret. Even after eight years, Sarah would never be able to forget his voice, and she didn't recognize the speaker.

"Who are you and what do you want?"

The intruder held up both hands to show they were empty, faintly amused. "I'm not going to hurt you, Sarah. You're right, this is not the place you remember. Things have changed and these are dangerous times. You will need a friend if you want to survive in the Goblin Court."

_Ah_, thought Sarah. _Then I am in his castle, even though everything has changed._ She wasn't sure if she should be relieved or worried.

Out in the hall, people trickled in one by one, gathering in whispering clusters. Gorgeous gowns and frock coats of silk and satin they wore, colorful as a flock of butterflies. It was not precisely like that enchanted ballroom with the whirling dancers, but it was hauntingly close. The similarity did not calm Sarah in the least, and she kept a wary distance from the stranger.

"How do you know my name?"

The stranger sighed. "That is a long story, and one that isn't mine to tell even if we had the time. The first thing we need to do is get you to a place of safety."

Sarah chewed at her lip, thinking fiercely. Appearances were deceiving, she'd learned that lesson a long time ago.

"You ask me to trust you, but you won't even show your face."

"I give you my word you shall see it before the day is through. But you must come with me now. The longer you stay here unprotected, the greater the risk."

"I want to see Sir Didymus."

"The knight?" Her companion did not sound surprised or displeased. "Aye, he'll learn of your arrival and will come around by and by, I imagine. He is not always free to move about where he wills, though he works for the king."

Sarah paused at that. "Then you don't work for the Goblin King?"

This startled a genuine laugh from the hooded figure, muffled but hearty. "Jareth does not even know I exist. No, I don't work for the Goblin King. But his interests might overlap with mine and those I serve on occasion."

The stranger peered through the gap in the draperies.

"It is nearly time. When the clock strikes twelve, all eyes will be upon her and we can slip away unnoticed. But be on your guard, if she discovers you here, all is lost."

Despite her suspicion, Sarah crept nearer to look through the opening out into the great hall.

"Who are you talking about? And who can't find out I'm here?"

The stranger made a slight noise of irritation. "Pay attention, Sarah. They are one and the same."

Her companion hushed her then, for the clock began to chime the hour.

A murmur ran through the crowd. Courtiers drifted away from their smaller groups to join a throng before a tall archway opposite the alcove. With each chime they grew more impatient, crowding closer to the entrance as they jockeyed for position.

When the clock struck twelve, a tall set of oak doors swung open and at the far end of the hall appeared a tall, slender woman flanked by half a dozen guards in white and gold livery. Her gown was a pearly gray and shimmered with her every movement as she smiled and greeted one courtier after another. Holding back the dark brown waves of her hair was a delicate silver circlet.

It was several seconds before Sarah realized she'd been holding her breath. _She's beautiful. _

"Who is she?"

Her companion leaned close. Sarah caught a hint of a pleasant herbal fragrance, something warm and comforting. _Rosemary and thyme_. The stranger whispered directly into her ear, so quietly that Sarah could barely hear it.

"She is Jareth's bride of two moons. That, Sarah Williams, is the Goblin Queen."

* * *

Tugging irritably at his gloves, Jareth mounted the long spiraled stair that led to his study in the farthest reach of the eastern tower. That morning's fast was broken with only bread and fruit, for he had little appetite. Now he wanted nothing more than to fall back into bed, but there was work to be done and appointments to keep.

Scattered and restless, the Goblin King's thoughts freewheeled in a hundred different directions until his head spun trying to focus them. The night before troubled him still and he could not leave off probing at his patchy memories like a wild animal licking a half-healed wound.

But perhaps it was working. He was remembering more of the dream.

_Caught in the storm._ Jareth remembered thunder and lightning, rainfall pattering on the roof above. It was dark but something caught the light, flashing silver in the shadows, hidden in the fog of memory. He was calling out for someone, and someone called his name in return...

The Goblin King flinched then at the answering stab of pain in his temples. Trying to remember was like peering through the shifting mists, straining to make out a dim silhouette in the distance-- one fleeting glimpse, and it was gone. Dull pain that burned steadily like the last coals of a bonfire, a white hand reaching for him, a fall of dark hair... He could remember no more.

Jareth braced one hand on the wall for balance as a wave of dizziness overtook him. _This is unacceptable,_ he thought, gritting his teeth. _I have a kingdom to rule, I cannot be haunted by dreams and ghosts from the past._

The stairwell was warm, but he'd broken out in a cold and clammy sweat. Wiping a trickle of perspiration with the back of his sleeve, Jareth forced the memories from him, pushed them away so he could have room to breathe. _Enough of this._ Later he would fly, he promised himself, leave behind this human form as he had not done for ages and ride the wind until his mind cleared. The lure of forest and the sun on his back calmed him.

_Ghosts?_ he mocked himself, _What ghosts could haunt a king?_

Jareth stifled an involuntary shiver, but centuries of discipline took over. He began to climb again.

When he reached the top of the stair, he laid a hand on the door, a seamless slab of wood worn to a soft golden sheen by the passage of the years. It was set about with the strongest wards the Goblin King could summon, the protections layered upon one another in enchantments as ancient as the stones themselves.

Though he had long been absent, everything was just as he'd left it. Hundreds of books and curios lined the walls of the octagonal room, and in the corner was a massive desk with an arched window overlooking the Labyrinth. Off to one side was a small bedchamber hung with tapestries in woven russet, green and gold. He'd slept in it many a night when he could not bear to be far from the cool and quiet of an endless starry sky.

The Goblin King breathed in the scent of old books and even older magic. He'd felt a prickle of unease between his shoulderblades as he crossed the threshold, but it faded as soon as the doors closed behind him. _Sanctuary._

Jareth sat down at the desk and began clearing a space among the books and piles of parchment, sorting them into even stacks. Here a letter, numerous lists and reminders, there a copy of a treaty-- all written in his own precise and flowing script. Moving them aside, his eye fell upon something different, a small scrap of paper with a few sweeping lines of ink. An unfinished sketch, the penstrokes were agitated and uncharacteristically clumsy, as if done in the sparest of stolen moments.

Jareth could not recall what he'd meant it to be, although if examined from one angle it almost looked like a young girl. She stood with her hand resting against the trunk of a tree, her head tilted as if listening to someone calling her from very far away. The Goblin King's stomach gave a lurch and he tossed the drawing in the discard pile, vowing to eat something a little more substantial when he broke his fast. _And I'll waste no more time in frivolous pursuits. _

Jareth shoved the sketch further away, but his hand struck something under a sheaf of papers that rolled across the desktop, catching the light as it moved and startling him. Cat-like, he moved to trap it. The object evaded his grasp neatly, elusive as a soap bubble but solid as stone.

_A crystal, nothing more. But if you turn it this way..._

It spun to a stop at his elbow and the Goblin King held up the shining sphere, but it was empty and showed him nothing. With a flick of his wrist, he prepared to cast it away to the void, but he stopped. _Why did I keep this?_ It served no purpose, the crystal held nothing of importance that he could see. _Yet there must have been a reason..._

There had been a great many things on the Goblin King's mind as of late, and he could no longer be sure of them all-- a fact he did not like in the slightest. He set the crystal back on the desk with a slight frown, the nagging headache that had plagued him all morning slowly creeping back.

_It is of little importance. I will remember it eventually._

"Your Majesty."

Having felt the little knight's presence a split second before, Jareth turned.

"At last." he said a little testily, "I was beginning to wonder if your reputation for punctuality was without foundation."

Sir Didymus swept a low bow to his king, hat in hand. He had not come by the stair, or by any means of entry readily apparent to the casual observer. This was not out of the ordinary, for the castle was riddled with back passages and secret doors, and Jareth suspected the little knight knew each and every one. Despite his troubled thoughts, he had to hide a small smile. It would never do to let Sir Didymus know how greatly he amused his king.

"You have been long absent from court." Jareth leaned back in his chair. "Some were beginning to think you would never return."

"Two moons, a fortnight and three days. I regret I was not there for Your Majesty's wedding, but family business called me away."

"Mmm." Jareth made a noncommital noise.

Though the little knight showed every sign of sincerity, Jareth doubted very much that he had any regrets about being absent from the wedding. Not that the knight had ever given any indication of what his true feelings were. Jareth's trusted counselor bowed his head like all the others and paid his dutiful obeisance to the king's bride-to-be. To all watching eyes, Sir Didymus was the paragon of chivalry and his outward behavior was above reproach.

It did not fool the Goblin King in the slightest.

They had very nearly come to blows over it for the first time in a stone's age. Didymus was uncharacteristically close-mouthed and could not be coaxed, cajoled or threatened to explain his stiff-necked disapproval. The Goblin King had tried all three approaches in equal measure and each one met with Didymus' unyielding silence. _Curious,__ that._

But Jareth should've known better than to expect the little knight to speak before he was ready. He shrugged it off as a mere annoyance, and resolved to keep his oldest friend and his new queen separate to maintain the peace.

"You did not ask to meet here to discuss trifles, and I will keep you no longer than is necessary. What news?"

Sir Didymus took a packet of papers from an inner pocket in his jacket, carefully folded and sealed with red wax. "The latest dispatch from the western marches."

Jareth broke the seal with a silver penknife and scanned them carefully one after another.

He looked up. "I trust you have messages for me that cannot be commited to paper."

"I do." Sir Didymus steeled himself, "My king, the leader of your goblin army is dead. His mount threw him as they were crossing the river ford, and the Lord Commander's neck was broken before they could pull him from the water."

"Another accident."

"Just so, Your Majesty."

"He is the second in as many moons." Grim, Jareth looked down at his empty hands. "It would seem that we are cursed with ill fortune."

Sir Didymus said nothing in reply to this. He did not believe in curses, and the king he knew did not believe in them, either.

"His officers will keep the news quiet for as long as they can, but it cannot be long. The camps are rife with spies, and once the outlanders know of it, they will strike."

"Tell me what our options are."

"We need another battle leader immediately, my king. It will take several days' hard riding for another dispatch to be carried back, but if Your Majesty could go and strengthen the boundaries, let the legions see their king..."

His words trailed off as the Goblin King shook his head. Jareth crossed his arms tightly across his chest, half-hunched over in his chair.

"I cannot leave the castle, it is... impossible. I will do what I can to hold the borders from here."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Sir Didymus' response did not entirely hide his disappointment.

Jareth's anger kindled. "You question my command?"

"No, Your Majesty!"

"Do not dare." The Goblin King crumpled the papers, hurling them to the floor. "I am well aware of my duty to this land and its people. I will take care of what is mine, as I always have."

Magic and steel protected the goblin kingdom. Spells created the Wasteland to the south and west, dense forest north and east and ringed the marches with mountains like jagged teeth that barred the way for man and beast. Jareth had raised them himself, a long time ago and further back then he cared to remember. And that was not all he had done.

Steel held the passes, a lean and hungry goblin army always on patrol. They were a different breed than in the Labyrinth, tall and whip-thin, scaly limbs corded with muscle and eyes like glittering topaz. They had no other function than to serve and to fight, which they did without question. And so it had been for centuries upon centuries, no human had entered the borders save by the Goblin King's hand.

The strategy was a sound one and his enemies few, for there was little to tempt the ambitious in the goblin kingdom. It was remote, the outlying territories wild and forbidding. The land and waters were steeped in ancient magic, all but inaccessible except to its ruler. Few knew of the secrets hidden in the Labyrinth's walls, and fewer still knew about the doorways to other worlds...

Jareth leaned heavily on the desk, head in hand as if his outburst had exhausted him. "I grow weary, Didymus. What more?"

Didymus shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, wary of the way his king's moods quickly changed directions like the wind in a storm. He'd saved this item last.

"Your Majesty, if I may be so bold-- to withdraw troops from the borderlands now would be disaster. The outlanders are many and we are few. We will not be able to hold the borders with less."

At first Jareth did not appear to be listening, but he looked up at this. "Who gave the order to withdraw?"

Sir Didymus hesitated only slightly. "Sire, the order was thine. Two fortnights past."

The little knight took another folded paper from the pouch at his waist, torn and dirty. Jareth read it, face impassive.

"I gave no such command."

Yet it bore the royal seal, the writing was undeniably his own. Jareth swallowed hard and wished he had something to mask the sudden sour rise of bile in his throat.

"It doesn't make sense," he said quietly, "Nothing makes any sense."

The little knight cocked his head, one eye bright. "Begging Your Majesty's pardon?"

"Rescind the order," snapped the Goblin King, sounding a little more like his old self again, "You will take command yourself and leave as soon as you can be ready. Do what you must to hold the passes until reinforcements arrive."

"You have my word it shall be done, but I can do nothing about the wards, Your Majesty," said Sir Didymus sadly, "Thy warriors can only do so much and no more. If the enchantments are broken..."

He did not need to finish. If the wards fell, all the goblin legions were spread too thin to patrol every mile of the boundaries. The outlanders would come, and Jareth knew who would send them to test the borders again and again until a vulnerable gap was found. He should ride out to them, see for himself as he had not done in nearly a decade...

Acid rose again in his throat, hot and burning until he thought he would gag upon it. Jareth would not speak of it, not even to his oldest friend. He did not have to, for Sir Didymus suspected without being told. The wards _were _failing.

There were rumors of a shadow rising in the west, of wraiths that walked on moonless nights. That such whispers had reached his ears and he had done nothing made the Goblin King want to shut his eyes in shame and wish it all away. Never had he felt the passing of years so keenly as he did now.

"It is impossible," he repeated, "You will go. I can trust no one else here now."

Even as he spoke, a small part of him spoke with amused detachment. _No one to trust? A curious dilemma for a king._

"Not so strange," whispered hoarsely. "Not strange at all."

If Sir Didymus heard, he gave no sign. "What is thy command?"

The Goblin King's head began to throb anew, and he tried to ignore it. _Do something. Your kingdom is failing, if the outlanders come, they will plunder all that you have of this world and the next. _

And for a reason he could not remember, Jareth knew he could not let it happen. He would destroy the Labyrinth, pull down the gates with his bare hands before he would allow the Storm King to pass through them, there was something he must protect at all costs... Though doubt and uncertainty assailed him from all sides, that much he knew for certain.

"Wait..."

He opened a drawer in his desk, shoving aside paper and half-filled bottles of ink until he found it. A small red silk pouch, the opening bound with a tangle of white ribbon and two hairs, one the color of sunlight, one the color of shadow. He tugged off his right glove with his teeth to undo the tiny knot, spilling the contents out onto Sir Didymus' outstretched paw-- a heavy triangle of silver and gold, threaded on a leather cord.

"Your Majesty, I cannot accept this!" Didymus was aghast. "It has never left thee, not in all the years--"

"Take it." Jareth was pale now, but his chin was set. "I have not worn it since--"

Far away in the great hall, the clock began to strike twelve. The reverberations shook the room so that the very stones seemed to tremble with the hollow chiming.

**One, two...**

Jareth recoiled at the sound, the tolling of the bells cut right through him. Noon was the hour the Queen held her court, even now she would be walking down the corridor to the great hall.

_Reganne..._ Here, her name did not comfort him, it stood apart sharp as broken glass, keen as a blade. He should be there, beside her. The court needed their king. Someone else needed him, too...

The Goblin King gasped. A ragged slash of pain in his breast, one that drove the air from his lungs in a forceful blow. It was all he could do to to shove away from the desk, sagging forward in his chair.

"Your Majesty?"

**Three...**

Through a crimson veil, he could hear the little knight calling him. Jareth rubbed his temples, which ached so badly he could barely see. "I..."

**Four...**

The air in here was so close, it squeezed his lungs like a fist. The Goblin King forced himself to take slow, shallow breaths. He thought of his wife. _Reganne,_ he tried to say, _Call her, tell her to come to me... No. _

It was not his wife he wanted.

Sir Didymus leaned forward, both paws still wrapped around the precious pendant. "Is something the matter, Your Majesty?"

**Five...**

"Yes," said the Goblin King, when he could manage it, "No... It is nothing."

There. The pain was easing, with every passing moment it was growing less, though now Jareth could suddenly not bear to be in this room with the walls closing around him. He sat up with great effort.

**Six...**

"Only you do not look well. May I call a physician?"

**Seven, eight...**

Jareth ignored the steady trickle of sweat that ran down his spine, soaking the back of his shirt. He forced himself to reply with a calm he did not feel.

"Really, Didymus, there is no need. It is simply a touch of--"

**Nine...**

"--illness, only temporary-- "

"...no ordinary malady, if your Majesty will permit me..."

**Ten...**

"... be ridiculous. It will soon pass, there is nothing I need, except--"

**Eleven...**

Nearly noon. The doors would swing wide open, the glass dome of the great hall lit with the sun burning like a bright golden eye in the heavens. _I should go to her, only..._

"I..."

_A mirror, one that blazed with all the glory of moon and stars. Her hand, falling forever out of reach. Someone calling his name, again and again until he wanted to tear through flesh and bone just to follow it and answer..._

"Your Majesty?"

**Twelve...**

Jareth shook his head slowly, as if awakening from a dream.

"I... need a drink."

The silence in the study after the clock's striking was palpable, growing thicker by the moment. Unable to hide the shaking of his hands, the Goblin King reached for a full crystal decanter on a small side table, and the little knight's gaze followed his every move. His sleeve fell back, exposing several inches of wrist. A narrow, scarred ridge crossed the pale underside of the Goblin King's arm.

Jareth poured clumsily, liquid spilling over the sides of the glass and splashing over the rim, though he did not seem to notice or care. In the light, the wine glowed like a garnet, darker than heart's blood. He took a long swallow and closed his eyes. Just a cup to settle his nerves and banish that wretched headache...

"It was never your custom to drink before the evening meal." observed the little knight.

The remark was so quiet that at first Jareth did not hear him speak. He opened his eyes to find his advisor looking back at him. Didymus' remaining eye was still bright and inquisitive, the rest of his expression carefully blank. The Goblin King had the curious sensation that he'd been assessed and found wanting, and the quiet rebuke stung him.

"It was never your custom to question your king," he retorted angrily, "Either in his policy or his personal habits. As I have told you, I take care of what is mine. You have your orders, see that they are carried out."

Jareth downed the glass in one defiant gulp and poured another. When he looked up, the little knight was gone.

* * *

"Hurry."

The stranger flung a long cloak over Sarah's shoulders and took firm grip of her arm, steering her out of the alcove and down the length of the hall behind the crowd. Though her companion was no taller than she and slight of frame, Sarah found she could not twist free of that gloved hand or escape from being pulled urgently toward the nearest doorway.

"Wait," she said, looking back toward the hall, "He's _married?_"

The stranger sighed in exasperation. "Did you think he would wait forever?"

"What?" Sarah stumbled and nearly fell.

Her companion continued as if she hadn't spoken, hauling Sarah upright with a jerk. "Please, we must hurry. There will be time enough for questions later."

Hand still clamped tightly onto Sarah's wrist, they hurried past the disapproving glance of a footman and out into a shaded walkway surrounding a formal garden. Cool green lawns lay before them, wide avenues marked out with rows of stately poplars. From beneath the low edge of her hood, Sarah caught fleeting glimpses of lavender beds and lily pools, yellow and ivory roses climbing the high stone walls. The pebbles on the pathway bit into the soles of her feet.

"This way," said the stranger, turning down one of the avenues, "Walk faster, before... Gods be damned, it's too late."

A group of court ladies swept into their path. The ranks parted as they turned the corner, and the Goblin Queen came into view, smiling at something whispered in her ear by a companion. They stopped short at the sight of the two, and Sarah found herself yanked to her knees on the gravel.

"Keep your head down, if you value our lives," hissed the stranger in her ear, "Don't say a word."

To the queen, "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. Please forgive--"

"And who are these creatures?"

The Queen's voice was low and musical, like water trickling over stone. Her head lowered, Sarah could see nothing but the hem of her gown, but something in the lady's tone made her shiver. It was like catching glimpse of something lurking in the dark, a quick flash of the blade's edge then quickly sheathed in shadow.

The stranger interjected again, high and desperate. "Your Majesty--"

"Kitchen rats," said one of the ladies-in-waiting, whisking the hem of her skirt a few inches back as if to keep it from being soiled, "Wandered far from their holes."

"Is that so?" The Queen relaxed. "You, I have seen, scurrying around to do your mistress' bidding. But your little friend is new."

A cool hand slipped under Sarah's chin and tilted it up until she was looking into the face of the Goblin Queen. She glanced up for only a moment, catching a fleeting impression of high cheekbones, full lips and a coolly assessing gaze. Slender fingers closed upon her cheek like the jaws of a steel trap, holding her firmly so she could not turn away.

"Such eyes," murmured the Queen, too softly for her attendants to hear, "I knew someone once with eyes like that. Like the sun drowning in a deep well."

She let go of Sarah's chin, brushing her fingers against the side of her gown as if to rid them of a taint. Beside her, Sarah could feel her companion relax just the tiniest amount before she tucked her head down again.

"I do not know your face," she said at last. "But I feel as though I should. What were you doing here?"

Sarah's temporary sense of chill relief evaporated. Hidden beneath their cloaks, the stranger's fingers tightened around her upper arm in painful warning.

"We... only wanted to see the royal audience, Your Majesty." The stranger spoke humbly, with a guttersnipe whine that had not been there before, "To look at all the lords and ladies in their finery."

"Such presumption," sniffed one of the queen's attendants. The others laughed.

Sarah watched the queen's expression transform from open and faraway to a shuttered look, like someone snapping shut a fan with a flick of their wrist. This wasn't what she expected at all. When the queen touched her, Sarah felt the pull this woman exerted, those cat-grey eyes shining like moonstone. But the sudden change of face, the flickering of moods revealed all. Or perhaps it did not and Sarah only dreamed it, but for just a second she could have sworn...

_Lonely. She is... all alone. Just like me._

The moment passed, and the Goblin Queen laughed along with her attendants.

"You have seen it. And now I think you'd best go back to your holes. The royal court is not a safe place for kitchen rats."

With that, she left, her attendants turning neatly like a flock of birds to fall in behind her. Sarah dared raise her eyes and watch her go, tall and slender back held straight as a queen's should be.

"Thank the gods," breathed the stranger, all pretense at cool composure lost, "That one could turn blood to ice with her smiles."

Sarah could not disagree, but at the same time, the queen's departure left behind a tangible absence, as if the sun had gone behind the clouds.

She had known women like this. It was not their beauty alone that turned heads, though none would deny they were beautiful. What they possessed was something finer, some sweet mystery that caught breath and memory like a firefly in the palm of one's hand.

Her mother had been such a woman. It made Sarah feel clumsy and all coltish arms and legs, as if she were an awkward child again forever saying the wrong thing. Pushing away another memory, she bowed her head and the coarse fabric of her hood was like sandpaper against her cheek.

_So,_ thought Sarah, _This is the woman he loves._

* * *

**Author's Notes: **_Surely every fanfic needs obligatory Lord of the Rings reference(s)? See if you can catch them. _

_This chapter turned out to be rather longer than usual in an effort to find a good stopping place and to fill out the Goblin Queen's character a wee bit. You'll be seeing more of her in later chapters.  
_

_Comments/reviews welcome. Comment replies (if not answered privately) are posted to my Livejournal account under username **dmacabre**. _


	4. Broken Promises

**Author's Note:**_ Back in the Labyrinth, Sarah is met by an unexpected and mysterious ally, but has a disturbing encounter with the Goblin Queen. Jareth receives ill news from the western marches, the kingdom is in danger and he orders Sir Didymus to lead the goblin armies against the enemy._**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Four: Broken Promises**

The king's pendant safely stowed in his pocket, Sir Didymus fled down a narrow corridor, lantern held high before him. The castle had many such hidden passages, some tall enough to admit a man, others only large enough to fit a small creature like himself. This one was very old, the stones worn smooth and slightly concave beneath his feet. But even after hundreds of years, the mortar was still as sound as they day it was laid-- whoever built it had meant for it to last.

Sir Didymus hurried past smaller tunnels branching off on both sides. Broken cobwebs fluttered in the draft of his passing and gathered on his hat in wispy banners, but the little knight did not notice. His mind whirred like the insides of a clock, all cogs and gears in constant motion. The kingdom was not well, and nothing was the way it should be.

Jareth was not himself though he little seemed to realize it, and that was what worried Didymus the most. Even his very speech had changed, become hard and desperate.

_I take care of what is mine._

The little knight was not the imaginative sort, the creeping shadows cast by the swinging lantern did not spook him. But the doubt and fear in Jareth's eyes, as if he were both remembering and trying not to remember...

_Dark times,_ Didymus thought to himself with a rare twinge of apprehension, _And even darker places._

The tunnel came to an abrupt end at a blank wall and he set down the lantern, reaching up high to press upon a rounded rock. The block of stone before him slid noiselessly out, counterbalanced so it moved easily at the push of a paw. Didymus slipped through, and the stone swung back into place behind him.

The rooms were quite spartan, with only a single window and a fireplace which was rarely lit. The main space contained a low table strewn with papers and tiny pewter figures. Two battered tin cups perched on the corner, empty with a thin layer of dust at the bottom. The only comfort in the entire place was an stuffed chair far too large for Didymus, dents and hollows worn in it from long and familiar use. Someone's cloak was draped over the arm like a black flag, and lying forgotten on the seat was a pair of leather gloves.

The small bedchamber in the room beyond had a narrow cot with a bedroll neatly bundled at the head and a brass-bound chest sitting at the foot. By the bed was a crude bookshelf, and on top lay the half-eaten remnants of a bun. There was no door to the main hallway, for the rooms could only be accessed from the various hidden passages. This was the way it had always been for as long as Didymus could remember. The king's eyes and ears could be at the beck and call of no man but his master, he kept himself to himself.

The little knight hung the lantern from a hook on the wall and began packing at once, emptying the chest of clothes and stuffing them into a leather pack that was nearly as big as he was. He'd stop at the kitchen and raid the pantry for bread and cheese to eat on his journey, but he could spare no more time than that. Not even, he realized with regret, to say goodbye to Hoggle.

Perhaps the Lady Anasta would pass on a message for him. In spite of himself, Didymus almost trusted her.

"Command of the army," he murmured absently, "The boundaries safe and sound..."

It seemed an insurmountable task, but Didymus would never doubt his king, not when it mattered. If Jareth ordered it, he would saddle Ambrosius and ride for the borderlands as fast as they could go. He would do what must be done, he promised his king silently. _I have never failed thee yet. _

And then his whiskers gave an odd little twitch. He froze in the act of heaving the knapsack up onto his shoulder.

"It cannot be..."

Yet there it was, a faint disturbance like a pebble thrown in a pond, the ripples spreading ever outward. Something had changed. If he had not been so distracted, Didymus might've detected it before, but now it was unmistakable, a familiar resonance like a forgotten melody floating to the surface.

"Blessing of the gods," he said aloud in his wonderment. "My lady is back. But... how?"

Eight long years. Like the king, he had not dared to hope and Didymus did not know if he dared now. _Two things a wise counselor requires,_ he reminded himself, _A level head and a wary heart. __It might not be..._

But his whiskers never lied.

He let the knapsack fall to the floor with a muffled thump. There was no going to the western marches now, king's command or no.

_You have your orders..._

The little knight reached into his pocket and squeezed the pendant to reassure himself it was still there. It weighed heavy upon him, heavier than such a small object had any right to be. In all the long years he'd known Jareth, the Goblin King had never taken it off until after that fateful night when time and fate were shattered by the words of a mere girl...

_Ah, _ Sir Didymus sighed ruefully. _Love makes us do the unexpected._

It was not like the knight to be conflicted about his course of action, but circumstances had changed. She had returned, and the way was clear. Unfastening the buckles of his knapsack, he began to unpack his things, carefully folding spare shirts away into the chest. Once again the little wheels in his mind were set into motion, whirring ever faster. It was a long and difficult road before them all now, and there was much to be done.

He had his orders.

But in his heart of hearts, Sir Didymus knew he had to disobey his king.

* * *

They fled down a side path, ducking low branches and squeezing through gaps in the privet hedge. The stranger pulled Sarah along by the wrist, cursing breathlessly in a language she could not quite understand.

The garden here was untamed, not the well-ordered beds and serene pools as in the queen's garden. Poppies grew in scarlet profusion, fragrant honeysuckle and cottage pinks. Tall stalks of purple delphinium caught the sun against the walls and flat stepping stones edged with moss paved the walk, clumps of herbs and wild columbine spilling over onto the path. The hem of Sarah's cloak brushed them as she hurried past, releasing their woodsy scent-- oregano and wild onion, fennel and mint.

They squeezed past one more hedge and through a rusted gate barely wide enough to fit a child before the stranger called a halt, half-collapsing against the trunk of an apple tree. The boughs hung heavy with hard little fruit, green globes dangling just above their heads. Just beyond it was a thick bramble of blackberry bushes, and further on, a stone building with a wooden door standing open. The smell of fresh baked bread and roasted meat drifted from it. Sarah realized she was starving.

"Damn," said her companion, wheezing slightly, "I've ruined everything."

"Story of my life," Sarah muttered in bitter humor as she rubbed the cramp in her side, "Nothing ever goes as planned."

"Of all the people to meet..."

"But nothing really happened."

"The queen saw your face," said her companion, kicking a fallen apple in frustration, "That wasn't supposed to happen. My orders were to wait for you and conduct you to a place of safety with no stops or interruptions, and certainly no encounters with _her_."

"What would the queen do to me?" asked Sarah.

_And what would Jareth do if he knew I was here?_ She couldn't ask that question, not yet.

"What?" The stranger seemed distracted, "Oh. Nothing. But it would be better if she didn't know you at all, and now there doesn't seem to be much hope of that. You'll need to take her by surprise, you see. She can't find out who you are or what you're here for."

It was the longest flood of words Sarah had heard from the stranger, and though it seemed earnest in its confusion, she was nearly certain her rescuer wasn't telling the whole truth.

"What _am_ I here for?"

An exasperated sigh. "Really, Sarah, don't you know by now?"

Sarah wasn't sure she had the answer to that.

_I have to find Hoggle and Sir Didymus,_ she resolved. _They'll help me if no one else will._ Just as her first trip to the Labyrinth, things were not turning out the way Sarah hoped at all. If this was some new intrigue of the Goblin King's, she wanted no part of it.

The stranger fiddled anxiously with the fingers of one glove, muttering darkly. "Disaster. May lightning split me in two if I'm to blame, but my mistress will gut me like a carp."

Sarah shuffled her bare feet on the grassy turf. The shade beneath the tree was suddenly too cool for comfort. She looked over at her companion, whose hood had slipped just a little. Sarah thought she could see a pale pointed chin, mouth set with a grim frown.

"And how did your mistress know I was coming?"

The stranger laughed mirthlessly. "The Lady always knows. You'll learn that in time. Come on, it's only a little further."

A gloved hand was extended to her, but Sarah ignored it, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'm not moving another step until you tell me who you are."

Her companion chuckled. "She said you would be stubborn. Yet the knight said you were brave, too. I hope you've heart enough to do what needs to be done, Sarah."

"Quit stalling."

With a shrug, her rescuer slipped out of the cloak, folding it twice and throwing it over one arm. Sarah found herself facing a girl barely her own height with delicate features and wide-set hazel eyes. She had a short crop of riotous curls the color of a new copper kettle; there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek and something that looked suspiciously like a jam stain on her sleeve. She wore breeches like a boy and a leaf-green tunic too large for her, belted at the waist with a length of rope. The small hilt of a dagger jutted from the top of her boot. The girl held out her hands as if for inspection.

"Satisfied?"

Sarah could only stare. "Who are you?"

The girl grinned and swept her a bow.

"My name is Cian, and I serve under the royal housekeeper, the Lady Anasta."

* * *

The kitchen was an open room with several cooking fires on the far side and the largest oven Sarah had ever seen. Strung between the soot-blackened rafters were long braids of garlic, and dripping fat from a whole joint turning on the spit crackled and spat as it hit the coals. From her seat on the bench, Sarah could see into the open storeroom with its barrels of flour and sugar, cured hams and bunches of dried herbs dangling from hooks in the ceiling.

People were constantly coming and going, fetching butter up from the root cellar, tending to the fire and carrying in more wood to be stacked in the corner. A young girl with her sleeves rolled up to the elbow stood at a table cleaning fish, her knife shedding the iridescent scales with each pass. Another sat just outside the kitchen door, shelling peas into bowl. It was a noisy, bustling place, but Sarah felt safer then she had for the longest time.

None of the workers spared her so much as a glance after Cian shoved the food at her and disappeared, but she was glad of the cloak that covered her from neck to ankle all the same. Finishing the last bite of her stew, Sarah pulled the edges a bit closer to hide her bare legs, tucking one foot behind the splintery bench leg. A muffled cough made her look up.

"My mistress, the Lady Anasta."

An older women stood cradling a large basket of dusky blue-purple plums against her hip. She was tall, her silver-streaked hair pulled back in a tidy knot, with a nose that stopped just short of being hawkish. Tiny lines were etched at the corners of her eyes, as if she once used to laugh a great deal. Cian was half-hidden behind her, remorseful and subdued.

Sarah's first urge was to stand but before she could do so, Lady Anasta sat down, placing the basket on the table.

"Sarah," she said briskly, "I am pleased to meet you at last."

Though she did not smile, the voice was warm. It reminded Sarah of bread baking and crisp fall evenings. Just hearing it made her sit up straighter.

"Lady Anasta." Not knowing what to do, she held out her hand in greeting.

Slender, callused fingers closed upon Sarah's own, and the lady held them for several moments before nodding.

"Call me Ana. We have been expecting you for quite some time."

She took a short-handled paring knife from her apron pocket and began pitting the plums, slicing deftly into them and flicking out the stone in practiced motions.

"Ana, then." Sarah wished she had a drink of water, her throat was dry as paper. "Cian said you knew I was coming, that you know everything. She said you gave her orders to find me and bring me here."

Ana did not look up from her work. "If there's a question in all that, child, then out with it."

Sarah flushed. "Why?" she blurted out. "Why bring me here, and why has everything changed with all this need for secrecy? What would the Goblin Queen do to me if she knew who I was?"

"Ah." said the housekeeper, pausing in her task, "Those are more questions than can be answered in the time we have. Are you prepared to listen as well as talk?"

"It doesn't seem like I have a choice."

What might have been a smile flickered across the woman's face. "Wise beyond your years."

The red-haired girl had disappeared, but Sarah barely noticed. There was a hypnotic rhythm to the way the blade dipped and flashed in the sunlight, and when Ana spoke again her voice wove an aural counterpoint to its movement. Lilting with just the faintest rasping edge, it was so quiet that it did not carry further than their little corner of the kitchen.

"This place isn't like any other, child. It changes people, and they who are brought here can always find their way back-- as you have done. Your journey was a crossing between the worlds, one you've made before. You know the Labyrinth is a place of gateways."

Sarah nodded, more to herself than anything. She knew all too well. Her first visit had been unplanned. This one had not, but she had a feeling that there were much more to it than she'd first realized.

"That's why he doesn't allow anyone in, you know. He cannot. Too many secrets, too much power... There are those who covet it and would take it if they had the chance. It is his task to see that this never happens, to protect the Labyrinth at all cost. This he has done for centuries upon centuries without fail."

Sarah thought of all the people she'd seen. "But--"

Ana's voice continued uninterrupted, low and soothing as if she were spinning a story by the fire on a winter night. Listening to it, Sarah seemed to drift upon the spell of her words.

"The Queen, now... She loves him the way the roots of an oak plunder earth and split rock as they grow unawares. Where she goes he will follow, and so will that court of hers, all the lords and ladies. They will follow her to ruin if she desires it. Many things have come to the goblin kingdom, things he would never have permitted before. She changed him."

"And he did this... for love?" The air in the kitchen felt close, and Sarah told herself it was from the smoke and heat of the fires.

The housekeeper only spared her a brief glance, shrewd and measuring.

"Love makes us do the unexpected... and sometimes the unwise. A year and a day past, he left the Labyrinth to go wandering far from home and hearth, bringing her back to be his bride and rule beside him in all things. He opened his kingdom to her people. He opened his heart."

With an easy twist of the blade she halved a plum, the amber-colored flesh glistening, the pit like a dark teardrop in its center. The woman cradled the purple globe in her hand as if it would break, letting the knife slip to the table.

"But she wasn't the first. And she knows it."

Here Ana looked up, and her eyes were the color of steel. With her free hand, she touched Sarah's cheek in a surprisingly gentle gesture.

"And what do you think she would do, child, if she knew you had returned?"

The food Sarah had eaten only minutes before had congealed to a hard lump in her belly and she felt sick.

"It's not like that at all," she said, "He doesn't... I'm not her enemy."

The housekeeper's gaze was undecipherable. "One day you might be. That is all she knows and all she needs to know. And now you have returned."

"I didn't intend for it to happen," stammered Sarah, "Not exactly. There was a mirror... and a dream. At least, it seemed like a dream at first, and I couldn't be sure if it was real..."

Ana let her go and picked up her paring knife. "Yet you took that chance."

"I thought this place would... give me back something I'd lost. It was selfish of me."

Sarah could not think why she was even telling her all of this, but once she began, the words tumbled out of her like water. She didn't even know if it made any sense, but Ana listened patiently, nodding from time to time as if they did.

"Everything was so ordinary, and I thought that's what I wanted-- all my childish fantasies outgrown. That's the way things are supposed to be." She twisted her hands in her lap. "You grow up and your dreams change, and all the old ones have gone someplace far away while you stay behind..."

"And this life you built in place of your dreams, with its walls of iron and ivory towers... It was a bad one?"

"No," said Sarah quickly, "Not bad. There was nothing wrong and yet... everything about it was wrong. I worked hard to get what I wanted, only it wasn't what I wanted after all. And I thought that if I could only go back to where-- where I'd lost my way... It would be a new beginning. I could start all over again and do it right this time." She rested her elbows on the table, holding her head in her hands, "It was a stupid idea."

"Was it?" Ana offered her half of a plum on the tip of her knife, "Don't you think you might find the answers you seek here?"

Sarah took the piece of plum and bit into it reluctantly. The tart juice blossomed sharp and rich on her tongue and for some odd reason, she felt better immediately.

"I'm not sure of anything anymore. It's all so different."

"Nothing remains the same forever, girl. Time and circumstance alters us all, whether we will it or no."

Sarah looked down and her next words were so soft they could barely be heard. "I didn't think _he_ would change. I thought he would be the same forever."

"Ah. But you must remember that to one such as him, forever is not long at all."

_Sometimes eight years can be forever. Long enough for everything to change beyond recognition. Long enough for some to forget... everything. _

She tried to smile. "I suppose not."

"Do you wish to go back?"

She thought about her little apartment, bright and airless in the summer heat. Laying down the uneaten portion of the fruit, Sarah looked out the kitchen window.

The late afternoon sun glinted off a puddle of water in the courtyard, reflecting a glassy landscape of sky and clouds. Wasps cruised in lazy circles around the blackberry bushes, past two girls drawing water from the well whose laughter rose above the creak of the rope and pulley. Beyond the courtyard Sarah could see an orchard of pear trees, the tops swaying in the wind.

Somewhere, her friends were waiting. It was all there, waiting.

Sarah shook her head slowly. "No. I can't go back. Not yet."

The housekeeper nodded as if that was the answer she expected all along. "Then you must stay until you find what you are looking for."

"But I don't know that," said Sarah in frustration, "I'm here, but I don't know why."

Ana merely looked at her, serene as she cut another plum in two.

"Of course you do, child. You came back for him, did you not?"

* * *

Dismissing her attendants, the Goblin Queen shut the door and slid the bolt in place. The windows were closed and shuttered against the light, but a low fire burned in the hearth to see by. Folding aside her cloak on a chair, she knelt to kindle a match off the coals and lit the tall stands of candles. The chamber was surprisingly austere, with little luxury save for the bed with its ivory posts and rich coverlets. These were her private rooms, Jareth had given them to her when he first brought her to his castle, before...

A hot tear stung her cheek and she dashed it away. Reganne did not cry. Reganne never cried.

_A place of your own,_ he'd said, leading her by the hand. _Everyone needs a refuge from the world, no matter who they are. _

Even bespelled he was still perceptive, so frighteningly so at times that on occasion Reganne would fear she had not succeeded in deceiving him after all. There were moments it seemed that he was seeing not her face, but another's. Thinking of all the masks she wore, each one different from the last, she supposed this was not so far from the truth.

Yet she never doubted Jareth's love, not when he turned those strange eyes upon her and they lit from within. She did not want to doubt it, just as she did not want to believe every caress was deception, every kiss that made her tremble a stolen lie.

_This is mine,_ she told herself when he took her in his arms. _He is mine._

How many times he'd stood in that same doorway with his hand on the latch... _Until tomorrow, love._

Each remembered smile dropped like heavy stones down an oubliette, bitter as poison.

Reganne touched the silver circlet that crowned her. Though it weighed but little, she could always feel it against her brow, a cold and unforgiving reminder that this was all a masquerade. Taking it off, she laid it on the bed. She could not wear it now, not here.

In the furthest corner of her chamber where the light never quite reached was a small door, locked. The key was no longer than her little finger, tarnished brass with the edges of the teeth worn smooth. It remained in a pouch at her waist in her waking hours and underneath her pillow when she slept, for while the courtiers might be her creatures, Reganne trusted no one. She took it out now, clenching her fist so tightly around the key that the metal bit into her palm. Taking a steadying breath, Reganne turned the key in the lock, stepping inside quickly before her courage failed her.

There was barely enough space to stand in the tiny room. A person could reach out and touch the walls on either side at the same time, it was like standing at the bottom of a narrow shaft full of cobwebs and echoes. In another time and place, this might have been a shrine to the old gods, wreathed in the delicate odor of incense. Here and now it smelled only of death and damp. Reganne wished she could scrub it off her skin, she hated it and the way it clung to her clothing long after.

_Later, _she promised herself. Reganne allowed herself to think of escape of hot water and clean things, but in another moment her heart fell. There was something she had forgotten because she did not want to remember-- the day was not yet done, and the night ahead was long.

On a low table was a shallow basin nearly large enough for a child to bathe in, aged by the passage of time to a dull chocolate, the color of old bones. The beast it belonged to had been gentle, almost tame... no match for the hunters. With the horns sawed off as trophies, only this remained-- the hollow skull carved into a vessel almost too heavy for a single man to lift. Reganne touched the rim of it, the heavy brow ridge fashioned into a graceful, curving lip. She set down the candle she carried and the flame guttered and flattened in the draft.

In the basin was something blacker than ink and colder than winter, its surface unnaturally still. Her white and frightened face gazed back at her from its obsidian sheen, reflection pale as a mourner's mask.

_Father..._

Reganne knew he would hear her. He was never far away.

Within moments he appeared, looking even more gaunt than she remembered. China blue upon white, spidery threading of his veins crept over his brow, the skin lay delicate as parchment across his sunken cheeks. Reganne imagined she could see the joins in his skull, crooked little cracks where it fit together like the pieces of a puzzle.

With a shiver she remembered the hall of bones, so cold no fire could warm it, where hundreds upon thousands of gaping eyeholes looking down on everything she did. The Storm King's eyes burned into her now, just as searchingly chill.

"You have been long away, daughter. Have you done as I commanded?"

"I have... tried. He is not so easy to overcome as you might think." Reganne was glad her father could not see how her hands shook, and only discipline kept her voice steady and her face impassive.

A sigh like the rattling of pebbles. "I warned you it would not be a simple task. Yet you gave me reason to believe you could accomplish what others could not."

"And I will," she shot back, "His armies are in chaos and his counselor is nowhere to be found. This I have done and there will be more, I swear it."

"It is not enough. He is bent, but not broken, and that is what I desire. I would be gravely disappointed if you failed me in this, daughter."

She did not need to be told. Reganne had seen firsthand the dangerous consequences of her father's affection and indulgence. His displeasure could prove fatal.

Reganne faltered. "I... I go to him every night. Give me time," she pleaded, "Only give me time, and it will be enough. I will find it."

When her father smiled, his face creased like cracked leather, a frightening parody of something that had once been a man.

"Very well. It shall be as you wish this time, but... do not forget your duty to your family."

No, she could not forget her family. Family was all, ties of obligation and duty that bound her tighter than those of blood ever could. As always when he looked at her like this, Reganne wondered how much he knew and how much he held back, testing her. His next words turned her blood to frost.

"He is a devious opponent, daughter, be wary of him and never let down your guard. You made him love you. See that he does not cause you to fall in love with him in return."

Though it wasn't possible that he could touch her here and now across the miles and boundaries of the goblin kingdom, Reganne gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white.

_He cannot reach me here,_ she reminded herself. _He cannot possibly know. I am safe, I... I am queen._

"No, father," she whispered, "I won't."

* * *

**Author's Notes: **_This update is a little late, for which I apologize. I had a bit of a problem with writer's block and other assorted distractions to deal with this past month that interrupted the usual writing schedule. A big thank you goes out to **Whiteraven**, **Motchi**, **MoonLover68** and **Kelliane** for their emergency beta work! Also thank you to **Heist**, who helped me out with some character names (the Goblin Queen's as well as that of the mysterious stranger) and for planting other ideas in my head, as she often tends to do..._

_Comments/reviews welcome._ _Replies (if not made privately) are usually posted to my livejournal under **dmacabre**. _


	5. A Chance Meeting

**Author's Note: **_Though reluctant, Sir Didymus decides to defy the direct order of the Goblin King and remain at the castle to pursue new plans in secrecy. Sarah has an uncomfortable discussion with the royal housekeeper about her life and the choices she's made, and the Goblin Queen makes a promise she cannot keep..._**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Five: A Chance Meeting  
**

The servants' quarters were a maze of rooms and hallways winding deep into the castle like a rabbit warren. Walking slowly, Sarah waited for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Cool and dim, the smell of damp stone and earth wafted down the passage, the edges of her cloak catching upon the splintered timbers that supported the walls. Just ahead, the housekeeper and her servant led the way, turning without hesitation down the twisting corridors. Sarah wondered how she would ever keep from getting lost when everything looked so much the same, one door after another.

_Don't stray from the main path,_ Ana had cautioned her. _You don't know where they could lead... or what might be waiting there in the dark._

It was an unnecessary warning. The memory of her brief encounter with the Goblin Queen was still fresh in her mind, and Sarah hoped never to meet her again. For all her grace and beauty, there had also been something deeply inhuman.

_I do not know your face..._

She rubbed her arms to quell the sudden prickle of cold. When the queen looked at her, Sarah felt as if she were a puzzle box... an insignificant diversion to be broken open and abandoned.

_And yet he loves her._ Biting her lip, Sarah thought perhaps she ought not to be so surprised. The Goblin King had always been fond of games.

Stumbling a little, she crossed the threshold behind the others. She was to sleep with Cian in a small white-walled chamber with two plain beds and a square window high up near the ceiling for light. Clean rushes covered the floor, and the second bed was freshly made up and aired.

Ana wasted no time. "We'll get to changing those clothes in a moment, but now that we are away from prying eyes, let me have a closer look at you."

The older woman once more seemed to study her, as if to memorize every detail of what she saw. Feeling self-conscious with her tangled hair and borrowed cloak, Sarah forced herself to remain still until the housekeeper had finished.

"Regrettable," Ana said, half-thinking aloud, "The Queen has seen your face, she cannot be permitted to see it again. It cannot be helped, something must be done."

She reached out in grim determination, frowning when Sarah instinctively pulled back.

"Don't look so frightened, girl," said Ana testily, "If I wanted to hurt you, I could have done so long ago. This is merely a... charm, of sorts."

Sarah couldn't help but be wary. "What kind of charm?"

"One of protection. Housekeeper I may be, but I am not without my resources. This is a simple glamour, nothing more. It will encourage people to not see what is before them, and perhaps even to forget what they have seen."

"It won't really change me, will it?" Despite wanting to be brave, Sarah was hesitant. She'd wanted magic, yes... but not in such close proximity.

Ana shot her look of mild reprimand. "One thing you must learn about magic, child, is that there are thngs even the most powerful spell cannot do. Nothing can change who you truly are. Anything else is just an illusion."

The older woman placed her fingertips lightly on either side of Sarah's face, her touch electric. In that single moment of contact, everything plunged into darkness. Around them, the room expanded with a thunderclap, breaking in two like a nutshell then filling with light until it brimmed over and spilled from the cracks. It dazzled Sarah's eyes and she had to squint against the figures of her companions disappearing in fiery silhouettes, blazingly bright.

All the rich, heady scents of the herb garden outside bloomed in the space within, intermingled with the scent of dried rushes and lavender. Sarah felt it clothe her like a second skin, falling like sweet rain on her face, warm sun on her lips. It spoke of things she hungered for without even knowing it.

_Home,_ Sarah realized. _A place where I belong. A purpose. My dreams..._

Each golden, honeyed, breath made her feel a little less afraid, less as if she were completely on her own. Sarah closed her eyes and wished she could stay stay forever. And then, between the space of one moment and the next, it was over. All the light and air had left the little room, and it was once more just a boxy little chamber with cracks spidering up the walls.

Ana let out a tired sigh, rubbing her hands together as if they pained her. "It is done."

Sarah touched her cheek, her hair. "I don't feel any different." she said doubtfully.

Cian obligingly held up a small hand-mirror, and she peered into it. Nothing had changed.

The older woman snorted. "Of course not. You are no different than you were before, nor will you appear so to yourself."

"But I'll look different to other people?"

"Many might be fooled by a simple trick," said Ana, " But the people who truly know you will see through any guise you wear. It would take a powerful magic indeed to change that."

"Then how will I know if it's working?"

"You won't. But should it fail, we must see to the rest of your appearance."

Off came the cloak and t-shirt, on went Cian's spare tunic and a skirt just a little too short for her. Sarah slipped on thick-soled slippers as the housekeeper brushed and bound her hair into a neat coil, then stepped back and examined her with a critical eye.

"She could pass, save her hands are too soft."

Cian shrugged. "The calluses come soon enough."

"I don't think this is going to work," Sarah protested, "I can barely boil water. Nobody's ever going to believe I work in the kitchens."

"Nonsense," said the housekeeper as she handed Cian a tiny pair of scissors, "It's not magic. You can learn."

The girl knelt on the floor to let down the hem of Sarah's skirt as far as it would allow, but she nodded in agreement.

"The lords and ladies never see the faces of the people who serve them, we might as well be invisible. It's the best place to hide." she said, snipping away.

Sarah looked down at the drab outfit, feeling silly. _A fairy tale gone wrong._ "Is this really necessary?"

"Only if you don't want anything unpleasant to happen."

"You said the Goblin Queen wouldn't do anything to me," said Sarah with an accusing look at the redheaded girl. "You told me _nothing_ would happen."

"I lie a lot." said Cian in apology, "Especially if it makes people feel better."

The housekeeper bundled Sarah's old clothes into the rag bag for burning.

"Everybody lies," said Ana curtly, "You would do well to remember that if you want to survive here long enough to accomplish what you set out to do."

Sarah reddened. "I'm... not here for that. For him, I mean."

"No? Before you were not so certain."

She ignored the slight mocking tone in Ana's remark. "First I want to find my friends. And then... I don't know. I'll do whatever is necessary."

"It may be necessary to see him. This is his land, after all, you cannot avoid its king forever. Or did you think you could simply put down shallow roots and play at this new life as if it were a game? When it, too, grows dull and colorless, will you leave it behind?"

Cold gathered in the pit of her stomach. _Don't even think about it, that isn't possible._

She could admit it now. Sarah had been living a pallid and watery half-life. Her thoughts and daydreams were always about this world, not her own-- guilty moments stolen at work, idle minutes drifting away as she stood in line at the bank, held an open book on her lap but didn't read. It was her refuge from an ordinary existence and the smallest chance that a place like this existed was all that had kept her going.

She had but to close her eyes and picture the long, dusky shadows cast by the maze's stone walls, the castle on the hill rising up like something out of a fairy tale. Waiting. For her. The Labyrinth would never be as empty as her old life, it just couldn't, or...

_Or it's all my fault. Or it means that it's not my surroundings that are to blame, it's me... and it doesn't matter where I am, I'll always be alone._

The housekeeper was waiting, her expression a quiet challenge.

Sarah blinked back tears fiercely. "I won't run away this time, not even if I have to face him again. There's nowhere else for me to go."

"There are many other worlds to run to from this one. You forget where you are."

_I could never forget_, thought Sarah. _Eight lifetimes wouldn't be long enough to make me forget this place._

"My heart tells me this is where I belong." she blurted out.

It sounded so foolish spoken aloud that Sarah wished she could disappear into the floor, but it was too late to take the words back. Ana did not laugh, only clicked her tongue impatiently.

"Hearts, too, can lie. What do your dreams tell you? You do dream of him, do you not?"

For one wild moment, Sarah contemplated lying. But the housekeeper had turned that gimlet stare upon her again, and Sarah suspected that this woman could peel her mind like an apple if she so chose.

"It doesn't matter, dreams don't mean anything. If he loves her--"

"Aye," muttered Cian as she snipped another thread, "If."

Ana cleared her throat sharply. "Dreams are _everything_, child. Another person might have chosen a different escape to a life less ordinary. They might decide to write, paint, or travel the world and find enchantment enough in mortal lands. But for you, that will never be enough-- you left the Labyrinth, but it never leaves you. And like everyone else, Sarah Williams, you are looking for your heart's desire and you do not even know what it is."

With a pitying shake of her head, she left the room.

Chastened, Sarah bit her lip. The housekeeper made it sound as if coming back was running away from her old life and problems, chasing after a silly dream. _It's not true. I just want what I do to mean something. I want life to matter again, not just every day being exactly the same._

And for that, she didn't need the Goblin King at all, it was better if he never knew she was here. She ignored a small twinge of regret. Everything in the Labyrinth was his creation, she could feel him in all that she saw and touched. Sarah could never escape him entirely, and a small part of her didn't want to.

Angry with herself, Sarah pushed away the last image she had of him, face and cloak the color of ashes, eyes bleak as an empty ocean.

_I did that,_ she reminded herself. _ Beat the game, answered the riddles, broke everything into a thousand pieces. He won't want to see me. By now, he's probably forgotten--_ Forgotten what? There was never anything to remember in the first place.

_Not true,_ a small voice inside her said. _There was something. You gave it up because he was wrong to take Toby, wrong to offer what you couldn't possibly accept..._

Sarah would never regret getting her little brother back. She thought of Toby so far away now, and hoped he was safe at home where nothing would ever harm him or make him cry. She'd made the right choice. But it hadn't made her happy.

_Happiness isn't a reward for making all the right choices,_ thought Sarah severely. Y_ou don't always get what you want._ She'd spent more than enough time wallowing in regret in her old life, she wouldn't dwell upon past mistakes.

_I won't be the same pathetic person who never does anything to change her situation. I don't want..._

...to be one of those hopeless dreamers, always wishing for what they can't have.

Sarah looked down at Cian, who was knotting off a final thread and surveying her handiwork.

"She's wrong," she said quietly, "I don't want him. I don't need him."

The girl sat back on her heels and gave her a lopsided little smile. "Maybe not, but it could be that he needs you. Did you ever think of that?"

Not for the first time, Sarah didn't have an answer. Before she could reply, the housekeeper returned with a large willow basket over her arm. Ana appeared composed now, as if she'd made up her mind about something.

"It will serve," she said, nodding at the skirt. "If you're to stay here, there's a lot you'll have to learn. So far as I can, I will help you."

Sarah summoned up the courage to ask the question she hadn't yet asked. "Why? Nothing is what it seems here, that much I've learned. What reason do you have to help me?"

The lines of Ana's mouth firmed with dry humor. "Perhaps it is what my heart tells _me..._ though good sense might advise differently. For now, let us say that our purposes share the same path and at the end of it, we may both find what we most desire."

She abruptly changed the subject in a way that Sarah now found all too familiar.

"I need two dozen ripe pears, no windfalls or worm-eaten ones, mind. Your knight was seen earlier today lurking in the orchard. If you meet him out there, tell him that if he damages even one of my trees, I'll skin him alive. Get along with you, and be back before dark."

"Right now?"

"The Labyrinth reaches into all worlds and all times, girl," said Ana, pushing the basket into her hands. "But there is still no time like the present."

Sarah felt a small glimmer of hope. If she could find the knight and Hoggle, that would be a beginning. And who knows what would happen next? The future used to fill her with dread because it seemed so barren of opportunity, but that wasn't true here.

_The land where nothing is expected and everything is possible. It's too late to turn back now._

As she tucked the basket under her arm and stepped out into the courtyard, Sarah touched the worn skirt and looked down at the scuffed toes of her slippers. She couldn't help but smile wryly.

_Kitchen rat._ The Queen had been right, after all.

* * *

The owl stretched its wings wide, white against the ocean of sky. This form was not well suited to ride the thermals, but the Goblin King was comforted by the sun warm on his back and the clear arc of the horizon before him. From above, the landscape was a patchwork of deep green and tawny gold, bound by running streams like silver threads. 

But the day was waning, soon nightfall would come. A chill seeped through his bones the sun's heat could not banish, and under the downy feathers of his breast, an invisible wound gave a sullen throb. _Am I a child again, to be frightened of shadows?_ He should have nothing to fear from the dark, and yet he dreaded it all the same. At night, he could feel the walls closing in upon him like a cage.

The owl hissed softly. In this shape Jareth was of two minds, man and predator, neither mingled nor wholly distinct. The bird of prey knew nothing of human concerns, it only obeyed instinct and hunger. Flight, the wind bearing up beneath one's wings, whispering and weightless. Fight, the soft sinews and flesh of an enemy slashed and torn in the grip of blood-painted talons. It could not understand what the Goblin King felt, could not know what it was like to walk on two legs through halls of stone where shadows swallowed the light...

The Goblin King's body ached, he had flown far enough. Banking slightly, the owl spiraled down, drifting like a snowy leaf on the current. A shady grove beckoned near a pond overgrown with rushes, safe haven. While there was daylight he might still find rest, the wind through the grasses would sing him to peace.

And later-- Jareth could not think about later just yet. The dark future was not an enemy he could fight with beak and claw, sleep was not prey he could run down, swift on the wing. Later he would call for more wine, mulled hot with spices this time, the pitcher of it warming his cold hands. Cinnamon and nutmeg, a cup or two would perhaps give him what he most wanted-- sleep, sweet and dreamless...

* * *

The pears snapped off readily at the stem, coming away in her hand all speckled bronze and warm from the sun. Unable to resist, Sarah bit into one as she walked through the orchard, the sweet flesh perfectly ripe, the juices running down her chin and arm. When she finished, she buried the core, tamping down the dirt with her foot. Here the grass grew thicker and taller in the shade, brushing against her bare ankles as she walked through sunlight dappling the lush green. 

As her search for Sir Didymus took her in a meandering path further from the castle, Sarah realized the orchard was much larger than it looked. Rows of pear trees stretched away in either direction along with tidy groves of apple and cherry trees, plums and apricots. Just ahead, the garden wall stood half in shambles, clumps of moss and ivy growing between the loose stones.

On the other side was the queen's garden, the brushy-plumed poplar trees lining the main avenue visible over the top of the wall. Setting down her basket, Sarah climbed on an old stump, stepping up into the crook of a nearby tree and pulling herself up into its branches until she could see.

_You're an idiot_, she scolded herself even as she scanned the empty shaded walkways and pavilions, the path circling the lily pond. _He's not going to be there._

But still she checked to see if there was a tall figure striding down the walk, imagining the familiar haughty profile and the swirl of his cloak behind him as he walked. Sarah knew exactly what she was looking for, all the minute details of his appearance rushing back to her as if searching for him was something she did every day.

It was a foolish hope, but that had never stopped her before.

And her efforts were not entirely absurd, because she might catch a glimpse of Hoggle. What wouldn't she give to see him spraying the fairies and muttering under his breath again! Sarah wormed her way a little higher, wedging herself in the join of two branches for support. Her true friends would know her, Ana had said. They wouldn't disappoint her.

Her foot slipped and she caught herself just in time, digging her elbows into a sturdy branch and scrabbling to keep hold. And then Sarah saw it.

Caught in a ridge of bark was a gold button, such as might be found on a very small velvet doublet. Attached to it was a dark blue thread, frayed at one end as if it had been snagged and ripped away as its owner hastily shimmied down a pear tree.

Sarah beamed as she pried the button loose with her fingernail, putting it into the pocket of her apron for safekeeping. The sightings were not wrong, and at last something was turning out right for a change.

Sir Didymus had been here... and he would be back.

* * *

"You did not tell her all of it." 

Cian stood in the kitchen doorway, one foot tucked behind the other as she watched Sarah's slender form disappear between the trees. The sun lit her hair all red and gold as if tendrils of flame curled around her face, looking all the more real as the breeze stirred her curls. When a cloud passed overhead, the girl's skin took on an almost greenish tinge to it, translucent as a new leaf. She moved restlessly and the illusion fled.

Out in the courtyard, the housekeeper wielded a broom with unusual fierceness, driving the dirt before her like a small whirlwind.

"I told no falsehoods." she said shortly.

"Nor did we tell her the truth." The girl held her narrow shoulders stiff with what might have been reproach, as if she and the older woman were equals and not servant and mistress.

"The truth." A bitter laugh, a defiant cloud of dust as Ana beat the broom against the garden wall. "What good did the truth do for me and mine?"

"Sometimes more harm than good," admitted her servant, "But Sarah... You told me, but I didn't see it until now. Sarah isn't the same person who crossed through the looking-glass, it's changing her already. She'd want to know both the good and the bad, to decide for herself."

At this, the housekeeper paused, leaning against the broom handle as she studied Cian's profile. The face as familiar to her as her own after so many years was shuttered and closed. When the young one put her mind to it, a person could more easily read emotions off blank stone. Ana felt her way along circumspectly, her tone light.

"Honesty has never been your favored policy, little spark. Don't tell me you are changing your ways now."

Cian chewed worriedly at the ragged edge of her thumbnail and would not be teased. "She is the Runner. It is... different. And she is--"

"A catalyst," finished Ana. "Yes. Do not speak of it here. I have not forgotten what and who she is."

The pause in conversation stretched on for a few minutes and in the hush, they could hear the clatter of pots and pans as servants prepared the evening meal. Cian rested her head against the door jamb, her eyes never leaving the trees.

"Were we wrong, my lady? To not tell the whole story?"

Ana sighed and took up her broom once more. "Sometimes lies and silence are kinder than the truth."

* * *

Her sense of jubilation at finding a sign of Sir Didymus' presence quickly evaporated, and Sarah groaned. _Lost._

It didn't seem possible at first, but she was. When she climbed down from the pear tree, she could not remember... Had the old stone wall been on her left or right as she walked through the orchard? It stretched on in both directions, the view obscured by thickets of honeysuckle and borage, and she'd left no discernable trail through the tall grass.

She picked up her basket uncertainly and wondered if Cian would hear her if she yelled for help. Someone might, but Sarah wasn't sure if she wanted to embarrass herself on her very first day. It struck her as being ironic that she had been back in the Underground only a few hours and she was hopelessly lost. Again. So much for learning from past mistakes.

"This isn't exactly what I'd hoped for," she muttered.

"'Allo!"

She looked down. In a crumbling section of wall where one of the stones had partly dislodged was a small worm looking up at her expectantly, its eyes bright. Sarah blinked. It blinked back and cleared its throat.

"I said, 'Allo'!"

"It's you." she said in surprise, dropping to her knees.

"Nah," said the little worm, shaking the blue tufts of hair on its head cheerfully, "We 'aven't met before, miss. Nice day, innit?"

"I guess it is," replied Sarahin surprise, "I'm very pleased to meet you."

Now that she was closer, she could see it wasn't the same worm she'd met back in the Labyrinth at all. This worm wore the tiniest tweed vest she'd ever seen and a jaunty little driving cap. Behind him was a gap in the wall with a welcome mat the size of a postage stamp lying before it. Two empty milk bottles sat on the stoop, and on the mat was a rolled-up newspaper, the print too small to discern except for the headline, which read "Evening Edition" in spidery type.

"Put on the kettle, shall I?" it inquired, nodding to the moss-lined hole behind it. "Come inside and 'ave a biscuit."

"Thank you," said Sarah politely, "But I'm afraid I can't. I'm lost and I need to find my way back to the kitchen. Do you know which direction I should go?"

"'Fraid not," said the worm apologetically, "I don't get about much these days. Stick close to 'ome and you'll never go wrong, that's what I say."

_I almost wish I had,_ thought Sarah.

Aloud, she said, "Well, thanks, anyway. I'd love to visit, but it's getting late and I have to get back."

"Sure you won't 'ave a cup of tea and a biscuit? Got gingernuts, pink wafers and lemon cremes."

Sarah smiled as she got up and dusted off her skirt. "Maybe another time. I really have to go now, or it'll be dark in a few hours."

Mention of nightfall seemed to remind the little worm of something, and he nodded sagely.

"Right you are, best be on your way, then," he said, suddenly brisk, "Though you might want to try going left, 's where most of your type come from when they take an amble through the garden."

Sarah looked off to her left. It did seem like there was a little more sun filtering through the trees that way, although she wasn't tall enough to see if the castle loomed overhead.

"Thank you!" she said, waving goodbye to the worm. "I'll try to come back and see you sometime!"

Before the worm could reply, she was gone, running through the trees with her basket under one arm.

"Bugger me," said the worm as she disappeared down the path, "I meant the _other_ left."

* * *

His cloak drawn up around his ears, Sir Didymus hurried down another passage toward the great hall. At this hour it was empty of courtiers, early enough yet that the chandeliers were not lit and the late afternoon sun cast diagonal shadows that striped the white columns ghost-grey. He made his way forward warily. This was her territory and he risked much to enter it. Neither wit nor the king's favor had saved all the Labyrinth's inhabitants, Didymus reminded himself. The king's protection could reach only so far. But the danger could not be helped, for the great hall was where his instincts led him, and there he would go. 

Quickening his pace, the marble floors felt unnaturally smooth beneath his feet, as if he slipped further behind with every step forward. It was so quiet that the little knight could hear the echoes of his own shuffling footfalls coming back to him.

_I like it not,_ he thought regretfully, _Give me open sky and clean earth underfoot, and I should prefer it over all the marbled halls and palaces in the world._

Yet what he sought was here, he could feel the vibrations hanging in the air like the last dying note of a symphony. Lifting his head, he scented the air cautiously, whiskers twitching. Some might say Sir Didymus' sense of smell was not what it once was, but they did not count upon certain other abilities... _Ah._

There, at the far end of the hall, where silk draperies hung to screen the musicians from sight-- a little alcove tucked in a corner, all but forgotten. The little knight could see why. There was no great magic about the place, just a very tiny spell.

_Do not notice me,_ it said. _There is nothing to see._

Didymus looked carefully about him, but the hall was empty and he slipped through the curtains into the musty little room. The dust on the floor and on the furniture had been recently disturbed, and still hanging in the air was a scent like a banked fire, like spent coals and cold ash.

"Indeed," he breathed, "My lady has been here."

A quick flash of imagery crossed the little knight's mind, swift as shadow. A wooden floor and a white candle lying overturned in a puddle of warm wax, wisps of smoke drifting from the crisp and blackened end of the wick. There was an open window, sheer curtains fluttering in the wind... a mirror.

Jerked back into the present, Didymus blinked to see it hanging there in the small alcove as if it had been waiting all this time. Had it always been here? He tried to remember, but could not. So many things had changed.

He was only just tall enough that his head and shoulders cleared the bottom of the frame. Didymus touched the cool glass. It did not yield under his paw, though he thought it might if he tried hard enough. He knew its kind, and back in his rooms there were books that might even record its making, for his family line had long posessed the knowledge of such things. There was a trick to it, you see...

"She has come through," he mused aloud, "Come and gone again."

Pulling the curtain to one side and letting in more light, Sir Didymus peered at the floor. Two sets of footprints, one smaller than the other. He could guess who they belonged to, and he relaxed just the slightest bit.

_Safe enough for now,_ he thought to himself. _But for how long?_

Didymus dared not tarry long. Leaving the great hall, he cut across a corner of the queen's garden, checking first to see that the paths were empty. Hoggle was nowhere to be seen, and Didymus supposed his friend would be off preparing his evening meal, as was his habit. He resolved to see him later, for there was much to plan and he would need the dwarf's help.

Squirming through a gap in the hedge, he caught a flash of sun glinting off white wings just above the horizon. Jareth, returning from one of his flights. The knight paused to gaze at the sight wistfully, the ease and grace of the owl never failed to make him wonder what it would be like to fly. Didymus supposed he would never know.

"Would that your wings could carry you far enough away, Your Majesty," he murmured, watching the bird drop from view.

The sinking sun reminded him he had little time to waste. Nightfall crept closer with every passing minute, and he dared not linger out of doors after sunset. Sir Didymus knew what every goblin and Labyrinth creature now knew.

It was not wise to be out after dark.

* * *

"Damn," Sarah said in exasperation, "I don't think this is the way back at all." 

The borrowed shoes chafed and she could feel a blister rising on her left heel. Her shoulders ached from the weight of the basket as she switched it from hand to hand. She'd walked for half an hour, but the garden wall seemed to go on and on, arrow-straight and unbending. Sarah couldn't tell if she was any nearer to the castle or not.

"That's the last time I take directions from an invertebrate."

Sighing in resignation, she hefted the basket. It didn't really matter, either way she could follow the wall until it curved back around to the courtyard and the kitchens. Walls had to connect to something, she reasoned, even in the Labyrinth. Sarah only hoped she wasn't taking the long way around, and that she would get back before dark.

Slipping off her shoes, she stuck them in her pockets and kept walking, the springy turf cool on her feet. Through the trees ahead, sun glinted off water and she hurried forward. A stream or pond, perhaps, water to take a long drink and dip her feet for a while...

The grasses were so tall she did not see him at first.

The man lay sleeping between the roots of an old apple tree so gnarled and bent its lowest branches swept the ground, near where his fair head lay pillowed upon one arm. Above him, the last half-blown blossoms of the season dropped their petals down on his dark blue cloak. When Sarah realized who it was, she dropped the basket and pears went tumbling over her feet and rolling across the ground.

_Fear me, love me..._

It had been so long, and though Sarah knew she would see him again, she wasn't prepared. The Goblin King looked younger than she remembered, or perhaps it was because she was older now. He did not stir at her approach, and she crept closer. His face was thinner, paler. There were faint circles beneath his eyes as if he had not slept well for a long time, and a weariness that radiated from him even in slumber. He was not the vital creature she had known, all glitter and flourish. But Sarah remembered appearances could deceive, the Goblin King was not a man to cross.

Yet here there was an odd fragility to him, lying curled in the grass with one arm outflung and the other gathered close to his chest, the way a child slept. And something out of place... It took Sarah a moment to realize what had changed. His gloves. He was not wearing his gloves. Slender fingers half-open, ringless. Despite the warmth of the day, he wore long sleeves pulled down and buttoned closely over the wrists.

Jareth slept so deeply he seemed not to breathe and for one wild moment, Sarah had to touch him to be certain he lived. It was foolish, she knew, but she couldn't help herself. One hand reaching out to graze an arm, a shoulder...

And then without warning he was awake and those unforgettable eyes were upon her, bright and piercing as they had been in her dreams.

Sarah gasped and pulled back, nearly tripping in her haste to retreat. But he only sat up and gazed at her in mild curiosity, pulling his gloves from a pocket and tugging them on.

"One of Lady Ana's, are you?" he inquired politely as he retrieved an errant pear. "I fear I am intruding in her domain."

He held the fruit out to her in a gesture that caught her breath because it was so familiar.

_I've brought you... a gift._

But written across his face was none of the mockery and challenge she remembered, only remote civility.

It was all she could do to take it and stutter out her thanks. In companionable silence, he helped gather the fallen pears one by one, then stretched, the movement leonine and lazy. He paused and for the first time he looked at her... truly looked, not the cursory glance of before. Sarah looked back, half-frightened, half-hoping.

"How strange," Jareth said softly, narrowing his eyes. "I almost feel as if I should know you."

Ana's words echoed in her mind. _A simple glamour, nothing more..._

Sarah's hand nearly flew to her face, but she stopped herself in time. "No, we... We haven't met before."

_He's forgotten me,_ she thought numbly, searching for some tiny glint of recognition and finding none. _It's like nothing ever happened at all._

Concern flitted briefly across his expression, then cleared.

"Of course. I suppose that is unlikely."

But the Goblin King seemed uncertain, stiffly well-mannered as he might be to a stranger... or a servant. He was so quite unlike himself that Sarah did not know what to think. She stood awkwardly, gripping the handle of her basket nervously. She must keep up the illusion. Should she curtsey? Congratulate him on his marriage?

Part of her wanted to shake him, make him remember who she was. In the end, she did nothing, and no words came, only the uncomfortable realization that they'd been staring at one another without speaking for a long time.

As if to break the hush, Jareth glanced at the sky. It was quickly darkening as the sun sank behind the clouds, light breaking over the garden wall in banners of rose and gold.

"You should make haste back to where you belong. It isn't safe to be out alone after dark."

"I've only just started working here and... I'm lost." Sarah admitted. _You have no idea how much._ "I wandered too far and can't find way my back."

At this, Jareth smiled slightly and it was a shadow of the knowing smirk she remembered. Seeing it made her feel better somehow.

"It is confusing at first, but you'll soon get used to it. There," He pointed in a direction away from the pond. "Between those two cherry trees and bear right. You'll find the castle if you keep the setting sun always at your left."

Plucking up her courage, Sarah cleared her throat. "And do you go the same way, Your Majesty?"

He hesitated, then shook his head. "I take another path, through the Queen's garden. But perhaps we shall meet some other time."

Inwardly, the Goblin King was puzzled. Why had he said that? She was only a maid and from the kitchens at that, barefoot with grass stains on her skirt. Their paths were not likely to cross again.

He must still be foggy with sleep. Jareth had been dreaming of something just as the girl woke him, a restful vision in cool shades of green and gray with a whispering song... like standing beneath a willow tree as the rain fell all around.

When he woke to those eyes the color of sunlight upon summer grass gazing back, it startled him but he'd hidden it well, not wanting to look a fool. She was young, a stray strand of hair escaping from its knot, dark against the slender white of her neck. Jareth had to resist the urge to tuck it back, to allow his hand to linger upon her cheek. It seemed to him in another time and place he might do so, watch those eyes widen in pleasure, feel her lean into his touch-- and try as he might, he could not shake the feeling.

In this and other things, he surprised himself. Far from being angry or surprised at her intrusion, it felt... right. Jareth frowned. Nothing made sense to him anymore. With growing dread, he realized that his head had started to throb again, slow and dull like the beating of a drum. The hard-won peace of the day had fled and night was nearly upon him.

Far away, the bells in the great hall began to chime and it reminded him that he had other appointments, other duties. It woke him from the dream.

"Please excuse me," he said, speech clumsy in his haste, "I must go, and your mistress will doubtless be looking for you."

His gaze met hers once more before he broke away.

"I hope you found what you came for."

Jareth placed the last pear into her basket and strode off in the direction of the setting sun, cloak folded over his arm.

_Yes,_ thought Sarah as she watched him leave her for the second time in their lives, _I came back for you._

* * *

**Author's Note: **_At last, you have your J/S interaction, Tallulah. Doubtless it isn't quite what you hoped...  
_

_Comments/reviews welcome. __Replies (if not made privately) are usually posted to my livejournal under **dmacabre**._


	6. This Life of Chains

**Author's Note: **_Her appearance masked by a glamour of the housekeeper's making, Sarah begins her life in hiding. Sir Didymus disobeys his orders and remains in the castle to search for his friend and see that she is safe. Ana has a secret. While lost in the garden, a chance meeting brings Sarah and Jareth face to face, but the Goblin King has no memory of the girl who conquered his Labyrinth.  
_

* * *

**Chapter Six: This Life of Chains**

A grey-green hush fell over the garden at twilight. Water lapped softly against the stones that edged the lily pool and wind set the rows of slender willows to rippling like a sage-colored sea. The Goblin King was lost in his reverie, thoughts restless as bogflies that granted him no peace. He looked up at the sun, all its bright glory diminished to a mere shining sliver upon the horizon. The day was dwindling, it was nearly done.

Walking faster, he crossed the avenue beneath arbors wound with pale yellow trumpet vine and sweet jasmine, their waxy blooms releasing a heady scent as his cloak brushed past. Fireflies lit up like stars in the dusky shadows beneath the trees, golden lights scattering in his wake. Jareth did not see them, for there was something he was trying to remember.

_Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered..._

The words were so hauntingly familiar, yet he could not think from where. Jareth pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead to quiet his throbbing skull. A poem he'd read, perhaps. A book... He could not recall the source. There _was_ danger, he could feel it massing like storm clouds on the horizon. Not just the faraway threat Didymus had warned him of, but something very near.

Upon reaching his chambers, he found someone had anticipated his return-- a carafe of wine had been left to warm on the hearth. Pouring himself a cup, the Goblin King breathed in the scent of orange peel and spices, the steam rising from its surface. He closed his eyes and took a sip, letting the wine blaze a heated trail to his belly.

After a few minutes, the chill had left him and he felt almost too warm, cheeks flushed from the fire. The wine swirled dark and red in the goblet when he tilted it this way and that, watching how the liquid sparkled as it caught the light. Jareth licked at the sheen of sweat that gathered on his upper lip, tasting the salt sharp on his tongue.

_Don't be absurd,_ he told himself for the hundredth time. _She's only a girl._

Shedding his cloak, he opened the shutters as wide as he could to let in the last of the day's light. The sun had now dropped below the horizon, casting its diffuse crimson glow up upon the gathering clouds. Soon the lavender sky would fade to midnight. There would be no stars.

The Goblin King drew his chair closer to the fire. He passed a shaking hand over his eyes. The long walk had tired him more than he realized and his limbs felt unbearably heavy, as if he were drowning in the riptide with the weight of the entire ocean pressing down upon his chest. Another swallow of the wine eased the burden just a little, and so one cup became two, then a third until the carafe was empty. Jareth let his head fall back, feeling sick.

_Not tonight,_ he thought, _May the gods show their mercy and let me sleep without..._

A desperate weariness overcame him. The gods were rarely kind.

Greyling shadows grew longer upon the wall, stretching and slithering like live things that stilled when he turned his gaze upon them. It was the drink that made them seem so, Jareth believed-- and hoped, for if the wine was not to blame, then he was truly mad. Fear choked him like the clutch of a fist, hot and acidic at the back of his throat.

_Do you know what happens to mad kings?_ whispered a seductive voice, _When it is too dangerous to let them go free, we lock them away in an oubliette and they are forgotten..._

The flames rippled before his eyes all scarlet-gold and black and for one fleeting moment, Jareth thought he might welcome the oblivion of an oubliette. There were many things he would like to forget, and many more he already could not remember...

He shuddered. An unsteady wave of his hand and candles flickered weakly to light all around the chamber, but they did not entirely banish the shadows, only forced them to retreat to the corners.

It was to be expected. The dark never quite left him these days. Jareth swallowed the last of the wine, letting the cup roll from his fingers and clatter on the floor.

A knock sounded, a brisk triple-tap he recognized.

"Go away."

The door swung open, and a tall figure swept in bearing a tray.

"Lady Ana," he said flatly, without turning to see who it was, "I do not believe I summoned you."

The housekeeper set down her burden on a small table near the fire, pulling it closer to the Goblin King's side. Untroubled by his cold tone, she began arranging dishes, unwrapping a bundle of cloth to reveal a loaf of still-warm bread.

"It is the privilege of rulers," she said in a business-like fashion, "To have their needs anticipated without having to ask. You do not look as if you are preparing to attend the evening banquet, yet you must eat."

She uncovered a plate with thick slices of roast lamb flecked with pepper and rosemary and swimming in its own juices. A platter of roasted potatoes accompanied it, skins crisped and golden brown in salt and butter. Most would consider the meal peasant food, but they were two of his favorites, sent to tempt a king's capricious appetite. The housekeeper retrieved his fallen cup, wiped it with a clean cloth and refilled it... with water.

Despite himself, the Goblin King smiled sourly and tore off a chunk of bread.

"I am honored. It is not everyone who can claim to be served by the Lady's Ana's own hands."

"Your Majesty has more able servants than I to serve the queen and the court. I know my place."

Jareth very much doubted this. If the Lady Ana rarely left her domain, it was because she could rule quite adequately without ever setting foot elsewhere. He had never seen her outside of the kitchens and his personal chambers, but she always appeared like clockwork with his meals when she was needed.

They had a friendship of sorts, the king and his housekeeper, a civil truce borne out of long acquaintance. In some ways, she reminded him of Didymus, although what this austere woman and the diminutive knight had in common, the Goblin King could not even begin to guess.

The scent of the food made him realize how hungry he was, but Jareth forced himself to eat slowly. Each piece of meat was tender pink and cooked to perfection, the potatoes so hot that wisps of steam rose up when their skins were pierced with a knife.

After seeing that all the dishes had met with his approval, Ana moved swiftly about the room, picking up the cloak he'd dropped on the floor and hanging it up to air. She did not leave.

"You have outdone yourself as always." Jareth said at last, pushing away his plate and taking a sip of water.

Cold and sweet, it steadied him more than the food had done, and this he did not want. A long night stretched before him, and the last thing the Goblin King desired was to face it with a clear head. He poured the remainder of his cup back into the ewer.

"I would, however, have more wine."

The housekeeper's cool disapproval could have lowered the temperature of the room all on its own, but she did not rebuke him. A fresh carafe of spiced wine appeared as if out of nowhere, and the Goblin King wondered in tired amusement how a woman her age managed to carry so much food and drink up the stairs without the aid of a small army of servants. He poured his own drink and downed half of it in one swallow before settling back into his chair.

"I met one of yours this afternoon, wandering lost in the orchard," he said as he watched the housekeeper stack another log onto the fire, "A girl."

"Did you?" Ana straightened and began cleaning up the tray. "There are many girls in the kitchens, all of them empty-headed, useless things who burn the porridge."

"Not this one. She was..." Jareth paused and searched his memory. Try as he might, he could not recall the maid's face, only fleeting impressions of a slender figure and dark hair.

He cleared his throat and took another sip of his drink. "She was lost, she said. Did she find her way back?"

"She must have done, as none of my staff are currently unaccounted for." Ana's reply was brusque, discouraging further questions. "Would Your Majesty care for dessert?"

The Goblin King leaned forward, less out of hunger than because he wanted an excuse for her to stay and tell him more about this girl. "I... yes."

The housekeeper lifted a cloth off the final platter on the tray and presented him with a small tart, paper-thin slices of fruit arranged in an elegant spiral over a browned and flaky crust.

Jareth cut into it with a silver fork, lifted it to his mouth. Pears. Golden sweet and tasting of butter and almonds, it recalled to him...

"She had green eyes." he said aloud, not thinking about how abrupt it sounded. "Green and brown and gold, all at once."

His speech was careless and a little slurred, the wine was beginning to take its effect.

"Your Majesty is mistaken, or perhaps you dreamed as you slept in the garden. There is no such girl working in the kitchens."

Ana's voice sounded hollow, but it cut through the haze of his memories like a blade.

Appetite vanished, Jareth set down his fork. _I did not dream her,_ he insisted to himself. _I couldn't have. That face..._

"Perhaps it is you who are mistaken, though it hardly matters, I suppose. It has been a long day, and a wearying one."

He drained his cup and Ana refilled it without prompting.

"You take prodigious great care of your king," noted Jareth dryly.

His housekeeper refused to be baited. "I owe you much. You gave me shelter and aid when others might have easily turned away."

Jareth shifted uneasily in his seat. So he had, once. He had not forgotten, but it was not a memory readily recalled. Like a drowned log tangled about with waterweed, it lurked below the surface as if it did not want to be remembered.

"It was of little consequence."

"But the deed was not without its risks. There are many who would not lift a hand to help a friend, let alone a stranger. I am in your debt."

Debts. The Goblin King knew of debts, and the prices that must be paid to fulfill them. Though Ana was still in many ways a stranger, he suspected it was no small thing to be owed a favor by this woman. She had the right of it, the deed had been a dangerous one.

Jareth never would have allowed it if not for the need written so plain upon her face. Sorrow had aged her before her time, desperation as haunting as the cracked and bleeding hands she'd tried to hide. He could not forget her. When Ana returned years later, she looked older yet. This time, she asked only a place in his household for herself and the red-haired waif who shadowed her every step. Again, the Goblin King said yes.

"I remember," he said, pushing the remains of the tart around his plate and watching her from the corner of his eye, "Yet then as now, my lady, you were always more than you seemed."

Very little ever shook the housekeeper's composure, and the only hint of her disquiet was the slight rattle of dishes as she picked up the tray.

"That was a long time ago. Much has changed."

Jareth finished his cup and poured another, slowly so as not to spill a drop.

"Some things do not change. We each of us had our reasons for the actions we took-- you needed to escape and perhaps... I needed to help you. You owe me nothing."

He looked at Ana over the rim of his cup, at the hollows and angles of her face. He guessed she had once been beautiful. _Iron in her hair, but more iron in her eyes and heart_. Whatever Ana had endured, it was forever etched upon her face for all to see. Hardship and duty could scar and bind, and Jareth knew this as well as anyone. _This life of chains..._

The tray held steady against her hip, housekeeper regarded him with unnerving calm. "Yet the debt will be paid, Your Majesty."

The wine turned to vinegar in the Goblin King's mouth, the last swallow curdling in his stomach. _The debt will be paid._ Never had a casual remark felt more like a threat. Even through the blur of drink the cold crept over him, her words burying themselves in his brain like a splinter of ice as if he had heard them before. _Dark promises, a payment in blood..._

"Your Majesty?" Ana's eyes upon him were cool as twilight. "If the king wishes anything more of me, he has only to ask."

"Do not come again," said Jareth hoarsely, "Send... Send the girl to me instead. I will have only her."

He expected an argument, but the housekeeper only inclined her head the smallest degree as she left the chamber.

"As the king commands."

* * *

A night with no moon or stars, only clouds crossing the midnight expanse of sky in fleecy drifts nearly too dark to be seen. Lying in her narrow bed, Sarah stretched her aching arms and legs one by one as she gazed up at the window. The breeze brought to her the scent of apple blossoms, and the wind was a shuddering roar like the sea. Night had never been like this in the city, not even after a storm when the air hung damp and cool over a shining skyline. Sarah took a deep breath and listened to the rustling of leaves outside her window. 

_This is home._

She'd returned to the kitchen just before sunset only to be put to work hauling water and firewood as Ana called out a barrage of orders. Dish after dish streamed out of the kitchen on the shoulders of footmen: roast suckling pig and stuffed goose, baked apples filled with nuts and spices, fish poached in wine and herbs, grilled leeks, a ragout of lamb and root vegetables served in a trencher of toasted bread. The servants dined on what remained after the dishes were returned from the banquet hall, and though the food had gone cold, Sarah could not remember the last time she'd tasted anything so delicious.

She flexed her fingers, then hissed. A fresh burn from grabbing the red hot spit handle ran in a red welt across her hand. After clean up, Cian helped her spread a pale green salve upon it and wrap it in a light bandage.

"You'll learn, Sarah," she said with a reassuring pat, "We all do."

Sarah hoped so. She shifted beneath the blankets, trying to find a cool spot on the pillow and a place to lay her hand so it didn't throb. Across the room, she could hear Cian's soft, even breathing. The girl had dropped effortlessly off to sleep as soon as she'd blown out the candle, and Sarah envied her.

_Hidden away in a maze of rooms and tunnels,_ she thought. _Like some terrible secret, waiting to see the light of day. How will I ever find him again?_

Somewhere out in the courtyard, a nightingale sang high and clear against the softly burred chorus of cricketsong. Sarah pulled the covers up over her head.

_I'll never sleep. Not here._

* * *

But she must have, for the next thing she knew a gentle paw was shaking her shoulder. Sir Didymus balanced precariously on the edge of her bed, beaming down at her and brandishing his candle aloft. Sarah glanced over at the bed across the chamber, but it was empty and Cian was nowhere to be seen. 

"Sir Didymus!" She swept him up in a hug, nearly causing him to drop the candle.

"Have a care, my lady! I should not like to burn thee with hot wax."

He sounded so pleased, Sarah could tell he did not truly mean to caution her away.

"I've missed you."

The little knight pulled out a small handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at a suspicious bit of moisture in the corner of his eye.

"Well met by candlelight, my lady. I regret thy return was afforded such a poor welcome." He blew his nose with great vigor.

Her friend looked much the same in his neat uniform, a small dagger thrust through his belt and a wide-brimmed hat cocked smartly over one ear. If some of his fur was a little more silver-streaked than before, Sarah did not notice. Taking the candle and setting it down upon a low table by the bed, she took his paw between her hands, forgetting her bandaged burn.

"Thou art injured!" The little knight was aghast. "If some villain has harmed thee, tell me his name and he shall not live to see the dawn!"

"My own fault," admitted Sarah, "A stupid kitchen accident. It doesn't matter, I'm just so glad you're here. I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"Ah, my lady," said Sir Didymus, squeezing her fingers gently, "One must have faith in one's destiny. I have always known I would see thee again one day, save that I did not know how long it would be."

Sarah grew somber then. "I didn't mean to stay away so long, Sir Didymus. It took me a while to find the way back. I wasn't sure I could do it."

"But of course the way would come to thee! Hoggle and I waited for thy return, undaunted though we had no word for these many years."

"What about Ludo? Is he all right?"

"I wish I had better news to tell thee, my lady. Ludo journeyed far when our adventures were done, and would not accept my offer of companionship on his quest... Alas, I know not what became of my noble brother, and I fear for his safety in these perilous times. The king--"

Didymus stopped short.

"His Majesty," he said carefully, "Had much to think upon after thy departure, I believe he slept but little and spoke even less. It was not long after that he left on a journey of his own, a year and a day's absence. Some thought..."

_A year and a day._ Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Sarah wadded up the pillow against her chest just to have something to hold. _That's how long it took to forget... everything._

"I know what you thought. He... didn't come to find me, Sir Didymus."

Didymus nodded in resignation.

"My heart rejoiced when he left the castle, but he was long absent... far too long. As the days passed and moons waxed and waned, many feared he would never return. But he did," said the knight with a shrug, "And so did she, the one who is now called queen of this land. Nothing has ever been the same."

_Oh, Jareth._ Something in Sarah's chest tightened and would not release. _Where did you go and what have you lost?_

In the awkward quiet, an audible gurgle came from the little knight's stomach and he had the good grace to blush and fiddle with his hat.

"A hundred apologies, I have not had time to take the evening meal, so eager was I to find thee."

"Don't be silly," said Sarah, relieved for the change of subject, "It's nothing to be embarrassed about. Here, I saved something for you."

Reaching up to a small cupboard shelf above the bed, Sarah retrieved a bundle of cloth, inside of which was a slice of cold meat pie, two apples, and several hard-boiled eggs.

"An excellent repast!" exclaimed Sir Didymus, eagerly biting into an apple, "Thou art well prepared. Didst thou have news of my coming?"

Sarah beamed. "Even better."

From under her pillow, she produced the tiny gold button and dropped it into her friend's paw.

"I found it this afternoon, so I knew you'd been to the pear orchard and it was only a matter of time before I saw you again. But how is it that you were able to find me?"

Neatly tucking the apple core into a pocket, Sir Didymus looked up from his slice of meat pie, whiskers covered in crumbs.

"It is the business of the the king's counselor to learn of such things. When thou didst not make thy presence known, I thought to look for thee in a place of nearby concealment. After that, how could I fail to know thee?" he inquired with a puzzled air.

"Well..." Sarah hedged, "Don't I look different to you?"

"Thy beauty has increased with each passing year," offered the little knight with ready gallantry, "And perhaps thou hast gained some height since last I saw thee..."

"No, I mean..." she waved her hand vaguely, "Different. Not entirely myself, like an illusion."

Didymus chewed reflectively a few moments before answering. "Ah," he said at last, "I see."

He tilted his head this way and that, studying her. "If one does not look closely, thy countenance might appear altered, for certes." he said at last. "'Tis a small glamour, yet a compelling one. But such magics have never had the same effect upon those of my line. We possess the gift of seeing true."

Didymus' remark might have almost been comical given his one eye, but he spoke so much in earnest that Sarah could not bring herself to doubt him.

"I'm so glad you're not fooled. This is harder than I thought it would be... I don't know how to act or what to say now that I'm not myself anymore."

It was disconcerting, the realization that she wore a mask invisible to her own eyes and the face she now wore was not what others would see. Like everything else in the Underground, now Sarah wasn't what she seemed, either.

Sir Didymus patted her knee.

"Thou might have changed in outward appearance, but it is still my lady before me. This bewitchment could not fool anyone who knew and loved thee."

Sarah smiled. "I wouldn't want to. You and Hoggle... and Ludo, if he were here. You all mean the world to me. When can we go and see Hoggle?"

The knight hopped down from the bed, tying the bundle of food to his belt.

"On the morrow, my lady, as soon as thou canst get away from thy chores. We have much to discuss, the three of us! Seeing thee again will lighten his heart, and our friend is in great need of cheer."

Sarah handed him the candle and straightened the feather on his hat. "Seeing him would cheer me up, too. But do you have to go so soon?"

"I fear I must, my lady. Thy companion may return at any moment and it is better I am not discovered here. The hour is late, but there are many things I must do before dawn. At least now I need not do them on an empty stomach."

Patting the provisions with undisguised relish, the knight paused.

"My lady, there is something precious to me I would leave in thy safekeeping," he said, looking about to make certain no one heard, "May I ask such a boon of thee?"

"Of course, Sir Didymus. Anything."

Her friend placed his folded handkerchief in her hand, something small and hard knotted up inside. It felt heavier than such a little thing should, but Sarah had no time to examine it further, for Didymus closed her fingers over it tightly, his face grave.

"I hope thou shalt not have need of it, but should trouble happen upon us, it is safer with thee. Pray, do not let anyone see or know of it, but never let it out of thy grasp."

"I won't," she promised him. "I'll keep it safe until you need it back."

"Verily, my lady, I hope that I never should." sighed the little knight.

Sir Didymus bid her goodnight and she watched until the light from his candle disappeared down the hallway, leaving her in darkness once more. Sarah sighed and shook the crumbs off the blankets, wrapping the covers tightly around herself as she curled up with her back to the wall.

Tucking the little knight's talisman beneath her pillow, she closed her uninjured hand around it and found its presence oddly comforting. It was too dark to see what the bundle contained now, and Didymus had not said she should open it, only look after it. But that didn't matter now, what mattered was that she was not alone. Yawning, her eyelids grew heavy even as she made all sorts of plans in her head.

Sarah had wished for change, and the wish had been granted. Things were changing. They had already begun.

_Tomorrow._

* * *

The wine was not enough. It only dulled the edges of Jareth's unease to a listless ache, but underneath it was a sense of foreboding so tangible he could almost smell it, a rank pungency that permeated everything he touched. Jareth was afraid. Piling more wood on the fire, he thrust a poker into the heart of the flames so that they crackled and sent sparks flying upward. 

_If I could keep the dark at bay for just one night..._

A glowing cinder landed upon the Goblin King's sleeve and smouldered, the acrid scent of burnt cloth sharp against the woodsmoke. The heat could not reach him, his fingers were so cold as to be nearly numb. Stretching his hands over the flames, he watched each spark as it lit upon his bare skin without the barest flicker of warmth. Jareth wanted nothing more than to fall on his bed, but this is what he feared above all else-- the closing of his eyes, the letting go.

He thanked the gods that Reganne was not here to see him descend into madness. He would spare her that much, at least.

Pacing the room to stay awake, the Goblin King tried in vain to summon up the thoughts of daylight and warmth. The afternoon's flight, wings spread to catch the rays of the sun breaking over the cloudtops in beams of pale gold. Rolling green fields, light dancing over the water. A gentle breeze sending down handfuls of apple blossom petals upon him as he lay on his back in the grass. A girl, her hand outstretched to take what he offered...

Pain lanced through his skull and his vision blurred.

"Leave me alone," he demanded of the empty room, "I..."

One hand gripping the mantle to steady himself, the Goblin King fought to keep his balance. He looked wildly about him at the corners of the room, the fey little flickerings of black and grey. A quick glance at the door told him it was still barred fast, but did he imagine the tiniest movement of the latch?

_Something dangerous..._

In the dimly lit cavern of the great hall amidst the refuse of paper masks and broken glass, the clock tolled the twelfth hour. Each iron-tongued peal rang out like the hollow boom of cannonfire and the very air seemed to tremble. Stumbling back, the Goblin King's foot struck the ewer left on the hearth and water spilled over stone, drowning hot coals with a hiss as the room filled with the scent of wet ashes.

As everything around him plunged into blackness, Jareth fumbled to re-light the candles but he could not. Time had run out and there was nothing left, no power to ward off whatever now came for him. The thin band of scars around his wrists began to burn and he pressed one to his mouth, biting down hard so that the pain might clear his mind. Blood welled up hot between his lips, and in the crystalline clarity it won him, Jareth heard it.

Footsteps in the hallway, silk upon stone. The Goblin King stifled a moan of despair because now he remembered it, he remembered everything.

"Sarah..."

But the light had left him, and now there was only dark...

* * *

Cupping his paw around the candle to shield it from the draft, Sir Didymus made his way toward the kitchens. Should anyone discover him here, inconvenient questions might arise about what the king's counselor was doing prowling around the servants' quarters instead of on his way to the borderlands. Didymus was not prepared to answer, and so he moved as quietly as he could past the tables and benches, keeping an ear out for any noise. 

But even the housekeeper had gone to her bed at this hour, and the only sign of life was the faint glow of banked embers in the hearth. Every pot and pan hung neat on its hook, every knife blade meticulously sheathed and stored. The pantry was shut up tight, though the little knight knew his way around a lock when needed. He touched the pouch at his belt, feeling the weight of an apple and the hard-boiled eggs bump against his leg and silently thanking Sarah. She thought of everything, and raiding the pantry was not necessary tonight.

What _was_ necessary was a trip to Hoggle's cottage on the far edge of the castle grounds, though he little relished the thought of making the journey. But his friend must be told of Sarah's arrival, and perhaps Didymus could afford the luxury of a longer visit. Hoggle laid a generous table, and there might even be ale... It would be like old times.

Warmed by that thought, Didymus began to plan out his route. If he crept along the wall, sheltered by the hedges and avoiding the open ground, it could be done. It was late, but by his reckoning it was not quite the witching hour.

Casting one last look at the empty kitchen, Didymus pushed open the door to the courtyard, the hinges of which he'd been careful to keep well-oiled. All was silent, and if the gods were good, all would remain so. Scurrying past the well, he skirted the blackberry patch and headed for the cover of the trees.

But the hour was later than he imagined, and the first tolling of the bell was so loud in the night's hush that Sir Didymus nearly jumped in surprise. Crouching in the shadow of the garden wall, the little knight's eyes were drawn to the far tower where a faint light shone through the window. When the twelfth chime rang, the light went out.

_It is always the same_, Didymus reminded himself sadly, _There can be no help for him, until..._

From deep in the garden echoed the cry of some nightbird, a ragged, sweet call that cut clearly through the rustling leaves. It made Sir Didymus shiver to hear it, reminding him of the stories he'd heard at his mother's knee. Banshees and other spirits wandered on moonless nights, things too fearful to be imagined. His ears prickled.

_Danger._ Didymus knew he should not linger, he should continue quickly on his way without stopping until the door of Hoggle's cottage was shut fast and barred behind him. But he did not move. The cry sounded again, a low keen of despair. It was closer this time, and as he stood listening and watching, the little knight felt as if his heart might break in two. In these dark times, many would lose their way. Some were already lost...

_This sorcery is too powerful, I cannot save him._ Still Didymus could not tear his gaze from the dark window of the king's tower. The cry sounded a third time and the fur on the back of his neck stood on end.

_A king's man till my dying day,_ he'd sworn. _It might all be for naught. And yet I am his... I must try._

One paw on the hilt of his dagger, Sir Didymus ran back toward the castle for all he was worth.

* * *

The Goblin King awoke bound hand and foot with fire in every limb and the taste of copper on his tongue. Coughing, he wished for water to wet his dry throat and cracked lips. He wished for sunlight and air that did not reek of decay and rot. Most of all, he wished for Sarah, but she was beyond his reach and for that he must be grateful. 

Metal rasped over stone, the sound like thousands of tiny bells. Jareth tried to shut his ears to it, but the music echoed back at him from every corner of the room, singing of madness and oblivion. He could not listen, would not close his eyes and follow the melody as it spiraled down and away from the light...

Shifting to ease the strain on his shoulders, Jareth flexed his arms and the pain brought him back to the here and now. Cold seeped through the thin cloth of his breeches as he knelt there, the draught of air down the neck of his shirt turning his sweat to a chill trickle. This was not a dream, for in his dreams, he was free.

The restraints that bound him were so slender as to be nearly invisible, a gleaming strand with individual links no larger than goldfish scales. Thin bands fastened around each wrist and ankle with chains that coiled and bit like cold fire into his flesh with every movement, burning until he thought he could bear it no longer.

But bear it he would, as Jareth had done every night for longer than he cared to remember. He'd feared nightfall, but this was the only time he was truly sane, here in this bleak chamber. The walls of it were as familiar as his own flesh and bone, and Jareth loathed it almost as much. His nightmare visions, sweeping the veil from reality to reveal--

_A king in chains, his hands held high..._

No windows, no tapestries to keep out the wind that whistled through the cracks in the mortar, no rushes or rich woven rugs to soften the floors. No illumination in the room but a single lantern, its light casting long shadows moss-black upon the stone. The chains were just long enough for Jareth to see it if he sat up, resting his back against the wall in a weary half-crouch.

Fluttering about the light was a tiny, silvery-winged thing halfway between insect and faery, some nameless little creature frantic to get at the bright flame and not understanding why it could not. Even above the harsh rasp of his own breathing, the Goblin King heard the soft sound of its body battering against the glass over and over. He wished he could put it out of its misery, but he did not even have the power to end his own.

Locked in the darkness, the day seemed like a faraway dream. He could remember only flashes of lucidity in the fog of his nightmares-- Didymus standing in his study, the dry crackle of parchment, a crystal that caught the sun as it turned in his outstretched hand. He recalled an all too brief respite in flight, falling upon the sweet-scented grass of the garden and letting sleep enfold him.

The memories were so dim that Jareth couldn't swear it was real and not some fantasy conjured up by his hand or another's. Everything was uncertain except during this one precious hour of grim awareness. This was the prison that set him free. If it were not for his despair, the Goblin King could almost laugh at the crude contradiction. His life had shrunk to the confines of this cage, these dank walls streaked with soot and mildew.

Yet he had not resisted his doom, the spell that tangled him him heart and mind. The Goblin King sought it out, had gone willingly and held out his hands to accept the bindings that now crippled him.

_All my fears and failings. __How I have paid for that cowardice a thousand times over. _ A man only needed one weakness to bring about his downfall. The Goblin King knew what his had been.

_The dark tower. A spell cast in blood and bound with bitter regret, a sacrifice of honor and memory... _

When the sun was in the sky, he did not remember. Only now did the past return briefly, the memories flooding back to tear open the wound afresh, as she knew it would. He hated her for it, a white hot and blinding rage. During the day, her presence was a talisman he would cling to no matter how false. By night, her very name was a curse. _Reganne..._

"Show yourself," he said roughly, "I grow tired of these games."

In the shadows a figure stirred, seemed almost to glide across the room to him. Kneeling gracefully on the floor, Reganne swung open the little hatch in the lantern's side. She waited. Without the barrier of glass, the winged creature shot eagerly toward the flame, and the room was so silent he could almost hear a glad little cry. The Goblin King averted his gaze, swallowing the gag that rose in his throat. As insignificant as it was, this creature lived, even yearned. He did not want to see it end like this.

"Wait--"

A soft crackle as it joined with the fire and its wings flared like a tiny emerald sun, brilliant as a thrown spark... And then it was gone, leaving only a scattering of silvery dust upon the lantern base and a sickly sweet odor lingering in the air. Jareth said nothing, kept his face a blank mask that betrayed little of what he felt. But she knew regardless, just as she knew everything.

The Goblin Queen looked up at him with a fond smile.

"You think me heartless, yet it is a merciful thing I do."

She ran a finger through the dust, touching it to the tip of her tongue as delicately as a cat licking its paw.

"It wanted the flame, just as you yearned to be free of the memories that haunted you."

She wanted him to look at her, so he did not.

"You may give people what they are foolish enough to desire," said Jareth, "But do not deceive yourself that it is mercy. It is poison, and you are a curse."

Reganne bowed her head, the thick rope of her braid slipping across her shoulder and down over her breast, smelling faintly of jasmine. If the Goblin King had but the strength, he would wrap it twice around that slender throat, pulling tight until her eyes bled and her tongue burst black and swollen from her treacherous mouth. _My beloved wife._

The words burnt him like drops of acid upon his skin, and he wanted to howl.

Leaning forward as if she did not notice, Reganne brushed the damp hair from his forehead, let her hand linger in a caress.

"We have no need for games, you and I. All of this can vanish like the nightmares that plagued you-- just give me what I want. I ask for so little."

She paused and sounded almost wistful. "There was a time when you promised me everything..."

"Rot in hell."

She flinched imperceptibly, but drew closer. Her lips brushed the taut line of his jaw, and despite himself, Jareth shivered at the soft and tantalizing contact. So warm...

Lower now, more persuasive. "Tell me. You need not speak of it aloud, only show me and it will be enough..."

She twined her fingers at the nape of his neck, murmuring against his cheek, his temple where the blood throbbed close to the skin.

Closing his eyes and steeling himself against the gentle siege, Jareth lay shuddering and helpless. Delicate tendrils of thought probed his mind, whisper-light like the fluttering of tiny wings. When she touched him, she took everything away, but at least here and now he had it all...

Jareth remembered the rain and how it came down in sheets and torrents, the mist blacking out an icy field of stars. He remembered a lone tower rising up out of the trees and jagged peaks of rock, a beacon as bright as the harvest moon.

A beautiful and shining trap for a king.

There was no pain but instead a brutal pleasure in the way she unraveled his thoughts, wound them between her slender fingers like silk ribbons under the scrutiny of those cold and curious eyes. It was the worst part of these dark nights, the tender relentlessness of her searching, the violation of everything he deemed precious.

And yet there was something seductive about being utterly enveloped, the temptation to stop fighting and be swallowed by the lush darkness it offered... _No. _ The Goblin King had one reason left to resist, a small part of himself he could lock away deep within where not even Reganne could reach.

_Don't think of her,_ he told himself, banishing a vision of Sarah, her head bent over a leather-bound book, brow knit in concentration. Sarah, breathless and running through endless corridors of stone. A dark-haired girl with a basket over her arm and feet bare in the grass... Sarah.

_Don't say her name, don't think of her face, don't..._

Reganne's voice calling his name brought him back, her touch-- less gentle now, more possessive-- on his throat, drawing down to trace the ridges of his collarbone. At his slight intake of breath, she moved lower to brush against his nipple, following the path with her tongue and encircling its tightness. He knew she would taste the salt and fear of him and tensed hard against it even as he fought for control. The weight of her braided hair lay heavy against his thigh.

_I don't want this,_ he thought feverishly,_ I don't._

Reganne raked her nails lightly down the side of his breast, biting just hard enough to mark his flesh. She was hot and wet against his skin and he nearly cried out then for the need that rose sharply in response. Heat pooled low in his belly, an answering hunger that he could not will away, even now. Jareth shifted again, a feral snarl building in his throat as he arched into her seeking mouth...

When she stopped, the absence of her touch was pain that made him writhe against his bonds. She could command him thus and would do so many times over the course of the night, each time savoring his struggle. It was a reminder.

Without the power that protected him, that which bound him irrevocably to the Labyrinth and its gateways, he was merely flesh and blood, bone and sinew. He was fragile. He could be ruled.

He could be broken.

Reganne kissed him lightly before he could pull away, and Jareth thought he could taste the remnant of the creature's ashes upon her lips, pungent and bitter. She laid her head against his breast so that the aching died back, just a little. Jareth remembered how she had done the same on their wedding night, when he'd taken her in his arms, but dreamt of another...

He forced himself not to bend, not to curl around her and complete the cradle of their bodies as they sprawled against the wall. In time he would give in, he would have to. But not just yet, he could hold out a little longer and tell himself it was enough.

_Sarah, help me..._

She stroked his hair, combing it over her palm so that it lay in her hand like a river of pale gold. "I wish you would not be so stubborn, husband. All your secrets will belong to me in time. You will beg me to take them."

His throat was dry, so dry that every swallow felt like it would split it in two. "I won't."

"Ah, love," said the Goblin Queen in a sigh that did not quite cover the sound of steel slithering from its sheath, "But you will."

* * *

_Comments/reviews welcome. Comment replies (if not answered privately) can usually be found at my livejournal account under **dmacabre**.  
_


	7. Dark Places

**Author's Note: **_Sir Didymus tracks Sarah down in the servants' quarters, leaving a talisman in her safekeeping. __The Goblin King is troubled by his meeting with Sarah in the gardens, yet he does not know why. Numb with weariness and drink, he tries to escape the dark dreams that haunt him. When the clock strikes twelve, Jareth is in danger. Bespelled by day, he is lucid only a single hour at night, yet still a prisoner. The Goblin Queen binds him both body and mind, searching for knowledge he cannot yield to her.  
_

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Dark Places**

_A steep and winding stair, twisting in upon itself tight as a snail's shell. It descended in a downward spiral, opening to a corridor where the walls closed in tight as a trap. Along the passageway, candles set in their hollow niches cast pools of light in the gloom. Water trickled down drop by drop until the stones were sleek as glass. At the far end of the hall was a black silhouette... a door._

Sarah turned restlessly on her narrow bed, Sir Didymus' keepsake still tightly clutched in one hand. Framed in the window were the branches of the apple tree outside, its leafy outline contrasted against an even darker sky. All was quiet.

_Decay. The smell of it seeped from the stones, a rancid taint that forced her to take shallow breaths. It brought her to her knees, scrabbling upon the ground until her hands were mossy with slime. Across her wrists, ragged flesh, red and angry welts that ran like mountain ridges over her skin. They burned, the pain so constant that the scars seemed almost to glow._

_Her thirst ran deep and she lapped at the meager stream as it ran down the wall and beaded in cracks in the mortar. It was barely enough to moisten her cracked lips and swollen tongue but she swallowed convulsively and bent her head for more. The water was foul, clinging bitter and oily on the roof of her mouth. She thought she might never get be rid of the taste. She thought she might die here in this prison, so very far away from everything she knew._

The burn that ran across Sarah's palm throbbed and itched. She whimpered softly in her sleep, but there was no one to hear. The covers were tangled about her body and she thrashed at them in agitation, but only succeeded in winding them tighter.

_A flame burned greenish yellow in the murk, trembling in the icy drafts that brushed against her cheek and lifted the damp strands of hair off her neck. Something circled it like a bright star, a creature with tiny wings lovely and translucent as moonstone. They beat the air too rapidly to see, fragile as gossamer as it flickered in its orbit, ever closer._

"Don't," Sarah moaned, her eyes shut tight, "Please, don't..."

_Pain and pleasure, irrevocably tangled up in the dark of her desire. The silken hair that swept over her, a seeking mouth hot against her belly until she arched her back like a dancer. Soft hands skimming lightly up her thighs to stroke her need to a taut hunger..._

_A blade long and slender as a needle, piercing her breast in a hundred places and leaving behind wounds like tiny crimson mouths, scarlet crescents against the white of her skin._

Sarah woke to find her pillow wet with either sweat or tears, she could not tell. It was hours yet until sunrise, the inky blackness outside her window unchanged. She peeled the clammy nightgown away from her body and her skin prickled at the cold air. Afraid to get up and look in the mirror, Sarah touched the base of her throat. She almost expected to feel blood upon her fingertips, but the flesh was whole and unbroken.

Cian's bed was still empty.

Dragging clumsily at the blankets with her bandaged hand, Sarah pulled them back over herself, smoothing out the folds and tangles from where she'd kicked them to the floor. The memory of her dream was already fading, slipping away in pieces with only fragments left behind.

_I burned, I bled. A thousand stars were extinguished and I wept for what was lost to me..._

Sarah turned over her pillow to find a cool spot to sleep on.

_Just a nightmare,_ she thought, wishing she had a drink of water. _Nothing more. _

* * *

Sir Didymus ran so fast he thought his chest might burst even as the walls closed in around him. The stairwell was narrow, two grown men could not stand shoulder to shoulder in it. This was an ancient part of the castle buried deep within the foundations, yet each stair edge was sharp and level as if the stone had been cut from the quarry but yesterday. The little knight took them two at a time, his lantern swinging wildly with each bound. Flecks of gold glittered back from the hewn rock as the light glanced across it, but the steps fell away rapidly as if they disappeared into an abyss. 

Even in his haste, Didymus was mindful of the danger. The drop was steep, the angle unforgiving. One careless misstep meant a broken neck, and he'd told no one of his whereabouts. Didymus chastised himself for the oversight. If he should be injured, his prospects were grim indeed: little food, tainted water-- and once the lantern went out, no light.

To lie there alone and broken, in the dark... A bleak image came to him then, one of pale limbs sprawled still and unmoving upon the ground.

_Do not think of that,_ he told himself. I_t serves no purpose. The king... _

The little knight's insides knotted up and he nearly stumbled then.

_Say his name_. Every Labyrinth creature learned at his mother's knee that names were an old magic, older than time itself. They possessed great virtue. Perhaps, Sir Didymus hoped, even the gift of guiding back the lost.

"Jareth."

The word echoed back at him from the stairwell in hollow mockery. The little knight thought of the last time he'd seen Jareth, trembling with the cup of wine clenched so tightly in his hand that it threatened to shatter. _Bent, but not broken. For all that, he remains..._

"Goblin King." This time the words were stronger, and the dungeons did not seem quite so dark.

Long would Jareth live and reign if it was in Sir Didymus' power to make it so. He steadfastly ignored the protest of aching muscles. The lower he descended into the castle's depths the closer the air became, stagnant as the water that oozed from cracks in the walls and formed slick puddles on the ground.

Didymus splashed through them, disliking the way the water clung to his fur like oil, colder than ice melt. That and his own labored breathing were all he could hear. No goblin would willingly venture down this far, not for all the gold in the treasury.

As he rounded the last spiral and came to the bottom of the stair, his step sent a pile of tiny bones skittering over the floor. Sir Didymus tried not to look-- the delicate finger bones that shattered to powder, little skulls clicking hollowly against one another as they rolled over his foot. The fur on his tail stood out like a wire brush, but he gritted his teeth and kicked them aside without pausing.

_A knight is never afraid._

The hallway curved gently like a sickle blade and he could not see around the bend. Though the sconces were unlit, Didymus caught the faint scent of smoke upon the stale air. There was something more... a heartbeat like the slow throbbing of war drums tugging him onward.

Hastening down the long corridor, he thrust the lantern before him. Light banished the darkness ahead, but darkness swallowed all that lay behind. Didymus did not look back, but he could almost feel the shadows closing in as he passed, like the fall of velvet curtains soft against his heels.

There was a poem Sarah read to him once, though it now seemed another lifetime ago. It was about a gallant knight on a quest, his favorite kind of tale and one he never tired of hearing. Sir Didymus could not recall the poet's name now, but he remembered the words and their fluid rhythm as they rolled off the page.

"Over the Mountains of the Moon," he whispered to himself, "Down the Valley of the Shadow..."

It firmed his courage a little as he sped down the hall. The knight wished that Ambrosius were with him now, but he hadn't the heart to ask the poor beast to brave all those stairs. Ambrosius hated the dark.

Moving as quietly as he could, Didymus made his way down the passage in a quick half-run, his ears pricked to alert. There, just ahead. If he peered into the distance, he could make out a faint shape. A door, perhaps.

He hesitated. It was too easy, this quest. Didymus did not deceive himself that his plans were entirely secret, not to one with eyes and ears of her own to spy on all the comings and goings in the castle. He'd expected some resistance, yet there was none. No obstacles save distance and old bones, and the knight knew she was far too clever for that...

A noise behind him, quieter than the shuffle of a lady's dancing slipper upon the ballroom floor. Sir Didymus whirled, drawing his dagger as he did so.

Nothing.

He held the lantern up higher, straining to see. Something rustled in the blackness just out of sight, a brittle sound like the crunching of small bones. He tightened his grip on the hilt.

"Reveal thyself," he challenged, "Stand forth and fight!"

Before he could take a step forward, a sigh came from the opposite end of the hallway, soft as the tearing of parchment.

"You should not have come, little knight."

Didymus spun round again, trying to keep his back to the wall. He snarled low in his throat, fur bristling.

"Get thee back, foul sorceress."

The Goblin Queen crouched in the shadows, avoiding the pool of light cast by his lantern. Though her skin was paper-white, her mouth looked horribly dark, a smear of crimson upon her lower lip. Slowly she stood, hand fluttering as she braced herself against the wall. Didymus could not take his gaze from it and the way her hand crept along the rough stone like a slim-legged, ivory spider. He held his breath. Dried blood beneath the nails, rust-red.

"No one summoned you, king's counselor," she said, the words devoid of emotion, "Creeping about in the dungeons is no task for a knight."

"A knight goes where there is need of him," replied Sir Didymus, holding out both blade and lantern steadily before him, "A knight follows his king."

From her red, red mouth came a soft trill of laughter.

The Goblin Queen drew herself up to full height and now he could see her eyes were quite wild, pupils so large and black they seemed to swallow all they saw. Her hair was was loose, the braid undone. It fell past her waist in dark tangles and the sleeve of her gown hung torn open over one white shoulder. She crept a little closer, moving as if she were made of glass.

"You would follow where your king goes, loyal knight and counselor?"

"I would, though the road leadeth me to damnation." Sir Didymus did not flinch. "Thy black arts are nothing to me. I shall not be bespelled as thou hast done before."

"Those are the words of a fool. Your master is a man besotted, all the kingdom knows the love he bears for me."

The knight shook his head firmly. "Others might readily swallow the lies they have been fed. Verily, I know it to be false."

"You know nothing." Her denial was quick, the tiniest quiver of fear in it.

"This I know of my king. Thou might possess his body and perhaps even his mind," said Sir Didymus, his one eye bright and searching, "But his heart does not belong to thee."

The Queen reeled as if struck.

"Half-blind and yet still you see too much." she hissed, "In my land, we do not treat the beasts of the field as equals. There was a time when your kind was the hunted one, run to ground by the dogs. It can be so again."

"This is not thy land, nor shall it ever be. I swear it on my heart's blood that I shall taste of death and dishonor before such a fate befalls us."

Her eyes blazed fiercely, but she only smiled. "Such an end is easily granted, you had only to ask."

Too late did the knight scent the enemy, a pungent musk that hung heavily in the corridor. The queen's attendents moved almost as one, many soft and well-kept hands seizing him in their unyielding grip. Skirts of silk and heavy brocade brushed past, the perfumed folds not quite masking the sour odor of unwashed bodies.

One held him by the scruff of his neck. She bent close, the slant of her golden eyes luminous in the dark, her teeth curiously long and sharp. The voice that spoke in his ear was deep for a woman's.

"Little fox," she growled softly, "We have you cornered at last."

Sir Didymus struggled in vain. His dagger fell to the stones with a clatter. The lantern was wrenched from his grasp, flame extinguished so that all plunged into darkness. The last thing he saw was the Goblin Queen. She gathered her torn gown about her like a mantle, and sagged back against the wall, her expression flat and unreadable once more.

"Rid us of this meddlesome knight. Take him to a place where he might be forgotten."

* * *

In the soot-blackness of the empty kitchen, a single match flared. Ana lit the piece of candle stub she kept in her pocket, setting it carefully on the tabletop. A woolen shawl wrapped around her shoulders, the housekeeper sat on the chair, tucking one leg beneath her the way she'd done as a child. Her grey-streaked hair was tied back from her face so it fell down her back in a heavy mass of curls. 

It made her look younger, all the lines of her angular face softened by the candle's warm light. If her staff could see her thus, they would start in surprise to witness the change that had come over the housekeeper. Ana knew without having to look in the mirror. The passage of time had left its mark, but on some nights she felt as if she was a girl again.

But the girl Ana could not have done what she was about to do.

A copper bowl sat before her so full to the brim with water that another drop would overflow its burnished metal sides. As she cupped her hands around it, the candle reflected back at her from the water's surface and the bowl itself, casting ovals of golden light that danced as the flame danced. The slightest movement could upset it all, but Ana was careful. This was what she strove for-- everything in balance, all things as they were meant to be.

_But who are you to decide?_

She ignored the mocking voice that needled her, the tattered remains of her conscience.

_There is no one else._

The bowl felt cool and heavy as a stone. Slowly, slowly, the metal warmed under the heat of her hands and Ana exhaled, gathering her will. The old ritual came to her with ease, even after so many years. Still, it was difficult to anticipate how one small action might lead to another and another, growing like ripples in a pond. Some claimed Ana possessed the gift of Sight. They were not entirely correct, but neither were they wrong.

What she saw was the endless array of choices, all the possibilities as they branched off into infinity like threads upon a loom. No one could know the future with certainty, but if one watched the threads and the weaving, a pattern might emerge... Yet for all her care, she could still choose unwisely.

_What to do next?_ she wondered silently, _How to choose?_

Ana closed her eyes and reached for the threads.

_A labyrinth of gateways, door upon door to other places and other times. They numbered in the hundreds of thousands, each one a slender bridge between the coupling of worlds. And where they converged-- the wild magic, its strength as intoxicating as honey mead, deadly as nightshade. One could wield it. The others..._

A thin wisp of steam rose off the copper bowl and hovered like a tiny cloud above it. Ana's hold remained steady.

_Three might command it, if they joined their wills against the madness. Four could rule. Yet it was wrong, such a power was not to be tamed and hitched like a beast to the plow, however one might be greatly tempted. To do so would require sacrifice, blood and betrayal._

Rainwater, gathered from the oak barrel beside the apple tree. She could detect its subtle scent, ripe apples, bitter tannins and sky. Though Ana did not move and all was still, the surface of the water trembled ever so slightly. Doubling her concentration, she pushed all other thoughts from her mind. She could command this much. She would be heard.

_You do great evil,_ she whispered in the cool quiet of her mind, the thoughts that ran still and deep as a river. _Do not seek to grasp more than you can hold or..._

The words dissipated like smoke in an empty room, without reply or acknowledgement. Ana knew then her warning would go unheeded. The hands that cradled the copper bowl shook and water spilled over the edge at last, creeping across the table top in a darkening tide. Numb, she flexed her unsteady fingers, wiping them on the fringe of her shawl.

Ana's tears were spent long ago, or she would have wept then for what she saw. Chaos. Imbalance. A land in ruins, a broken king...

It was not yet before her, but the time would come. She would have to choose.

Silence filled the kitchen, but if Ana focused, she could hear beyond it. Out in the garden, worms tunneled into the loam, turning the earth as they went. Her handmaid lay awake and watchful on a bed of leaves and grass, her face turned to the endless canopy of a starless night. The girl Sarah slept the sleep of the young, wrapped in dreams that would vanish upon the dawn.

And somewhere deep in the castle in the heart of the underground, Ana heard the heavy clink of chains and a door swinging shut on rusted hinges, a sound as final as a stone slab sliding into place on a tomb.

_Death and dishonor..._

She opened her eyes to find that the candle stub had burned so far down the flame was sputtering, nearly drowned in its own wax. She watched it die, leaving her her darkness.

In a few moments, she would fetch a butter knife, scrape as much of the wax off as she could and rub the remainder into the table's scarred surface until the old wood shone. After that, Ana would sleep. It was done, the night's work bitter as lemon pith and full of sorrows yet uncounted.

"Ah, sir knight," she said with genuine regret, "I did try and warn you."

* * *

The slender trunks of the birch trees were ghostly white, heart-shaped leaves trembling in the wind. So near to the grove it sounded like the whispering of many voices, and Hoggle did not care to linger even with the light blazing forth from the door of his cottage. He glanced about as he gathered up the papery curls of birchbark, stuffing them in his pockets for tinder. 

_I shouldn't even be out here. _ His boots scuffed along the damp earth beneath the trees. Even so close to home, it wasn't safe. Hoggle cursed himself for letting the fuel box get low.

There'd been rumors down at the pub and goblin market, whispers and wild speculation. It was said that something terrible beyond imagining stalked the Labyrinth after nightfall, and those who were unwise enough to wander out were never seen again.

As a rule, Hoggle didn't hold with gossip, but it was hard not to believe when every fortnight saw fewer gathered in the square. Creatures he'd known for more than half his life were disappearing, there one day and gone the next. Foolish as they could be, even the goblins were frightened. This bothered the dwarf most of all.

The birchbark crackled in his pockets as he walked and every leaf rustling seemed louder in the stillness. More than once he jumped at the call of some night bird, brandishing a stick of firewood to fend off an enemy that did not exist. Only when the last armload of wood was brought in and he barred the door with a stout length of maple did Hoggle sigh in relief.

"A night fit for neither man nor beast," he said aloud.

Easing himself down on the low stool by the hearth, he rubbed his aching knee. Thinning the lavender beds in the queen's garden had taken all afternoon and now his joints were stiff as an unoiled gate. Hoggle stretched out his leg and groaned. His knee needed a warm mustard poultice, but there was time enough for that after a good meal.

A late supper simmered in a copper kettle over the fire and the savory smell reminded him he'd missed his tea. He stirred the soup with a long wooden spoon, adding a handful of chopped parsley and a pinch of salt.

Hot food and cool drink from the cellar-- the best cure for a long day's work, in the dwarf's estimation. Yet he was uneasy, for Hoggle had expected company. Sunset had come and gone, and not a sign of Sir Didymus. It wasn't like the litle knight to pass up a free meal, and even less like him to fail to send word. Hoggle busied himself drawing a tankard of ale and laying out bread and cheese, taking care to set an extra place in case Didymus should show.

_He wouldn't come after dark. Even Didymus knows better than that. Nobody goes out past nightfall these days if they know what's good for them._

But even as he sought reassurance from the words, Hoggle admitted that Sir Didymus was not just anybody. The knight knew the dangers as well as the next person, but he didn't always heed them. Hoggle glanced over at the small brass timepiece on the mantle, frowning at the late hour.

_Black as the inside of a tar barrel and not a sliver of moon to see by._ Troubled, Hoggle considered this a while. _Leastways if you can't see what's out there, then maybe what's out there can't see you._

It wasn't much comfort. Looking down, he realized he'd shredded a piece of bread to crumbs in his agitation. Hoggle picked up a cloth and swept the tabletop clean, muttering under his breath.

"I warned him, I did. It's a dangerous business, poking your nose into the king's affairs whether he commands it or no. And as for her..."

He would not speak the Queen's name. Few did if they were wise, for you never knew who might be listening.

_We may all be at her beck and call, but she's no queen of mine,_ he thought stubbornly, _Not now or ever._

Hoggle scrubbed the table so hard he ran the risk of wearing a hole in it, but it made him feel a bit better. Not that he'd ever admit it to anyone, but there'd been a time when he thought the Labyrinth would have a very different queen...

"Right. Then everyone will live happily ever after, just like in the stories."

Thoroughly disgusted with himself, he wadded up the cloth and tossed it into the washbucket. _I've kept company with that soft-hearted little furbag too long and now I'm going soft in the head to match._

Sir Didymus was the soul of discretion, but it was clear enough where his hopes lay-- not that he had expressed them in so many words to the king. He was far too loyal for that. But once, when his tongue was loosened by a potent batch of Hoggle's homebrew, he'd nudged the dwarf conspiratorially.

"Queen Sarah," Sir Didymus had whispered, his one eye gleaming, "Would not such a thing be grand?"

Ludo agreed, though the shy beast would only speak on the subject if pressed. He and the knight were cut from the same cloth.

_Foolish romantics, the pair of them,_ thought Hoggle. _Dreaming up this fanciful rubbish like two match-making old hens. _

Yet he had been close to ceding the point when the Goblin King up and left. Days passed quickly in the Underground, but seven years was still a long time for the king's displays of temper and the solitary brooding spells that were far worse. How old was Sarah then? One and twenty, by Hoggle's reckoning. A proper age. They'd all thought the same, that perhaps Jareth had ceased waiting at last. The knight had been insufferably pleased.

But now the world was turned upside down, Ludo was gone and Didymus nowhere to be found. The dwarf felt very old then, thinking of it.

"Gentle hearts are of no use here," said Hoggle bitterly as he rearranged the knives and spoons. "They don't survive, and surviving's what matters in the end. That's your happily ever after for you."

Slamming down the spoon, he paced the floor despite his throbbing knee. The cottage was on the farthest edge of the grounds, connected to the gardens by a long and winding lane. Didymus knew the way well enough over the path's twists and turns, past the fence of woven willow and the vegetable patch planted with cabbages and carrots. There was no reason for delay, unless something had gone very wrong.

_He should be here by now. _

The dwarf continued to pace, as if each step could help the time pass a little faster. When he could no longer ignore the rumblings of his stomach, he ladled out a generous bowlful of soup. Thick with barley and onions, it warmed Hoggle's insides, but he barely tasted a mouthful. With each bite he paused, expecting to hear a knock at the door. He drank down half the ale in one gulp, wiping the foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. Still the little knight did not come.

Buttering a slice of bread, Hoggle let it sit untouched while the clock ticked away the minutes until dawn. The night fell quiet, the crickets no longer sang in the marigold beds outside the cottage. Hoggle yawned. The heat from the fire made him drowsy and dozed off without meaning to, hands folded over his stomach and chin nodding till it came to rest upon his chest.

In a little while, Hoggle was dreaming of all the gardens he would one day plant. Not the manicured lawns of the queen's garden, with its marble edged lily ponds and neat gravel avenues criss-crossing the grass. That was too tame and ordered for his taste.

No, this garden would be full of unexpected paths and turns, just like the Labyrinth itself. Wild mint growing around secret pools no bigger than a child's bath, hidden under the branches of a weeping willow. Lilac hedges opening up to light-filled clearings where wild cherry trees were in bloom. Foxglove and forget-me-nots, scarlet morning glory vines climbing toward the sun while violets grew in the shade. It would be wild and beautiful as Hoggle had only dreamed. It would be for her, his first friend.

_Sarah. Queen of the Goblins._ In his sleep, Hoggle smiled.

What woke him was a low, thin wail like the cry of a wolf. First one lone call, followed by a more distant chorus that shook the sleep from him like a dash of cold water. Hoggle rubbed his bleary eyes, upsetting the bread and butter as he did so. He strained his ears to listen.

From far away was a rolling murmur like thunder, but the sound was wrong, it swelled too quickly, faster than any gale could carry it. It reminded Hoggle of something he'd seen long ago, an ocean wave taller than any tree of the forest. Birthed far out to sea from nothing more than wind and water, it rose like a giant serpent to crash upon the shore, sweeping away boats and fishermens' huts in its vicious coils. Like every great calamity, it began with only a whisper...

Hoggle clutched the edge of the table, taken back to that day. Almost he could smell the salt air, hear the brittle crack of ship masts snapping in two. _ Lost. All lost._

That was what this sound was, the coming of a storm. It grew and grew until the very cottage shook in its foundations and the pots and pans rattled. As it drew nearer, Hoggle made out the pounding beat of many hooves, each one striking the air like a drum.

When the howl sounded again, it was so close this time that it seemed to echo down the chimney, a tearing cry both shrill and hollow. Hoggle pushed himself away from the table and staggered to the window. He parted the curtains to peer out through the gap between the shutters. All was black and deathly quiet, except--

Dozens of eyes glittering from the cover of tree and bush. Not the usual nocturnal pests foraging for food in the vegetable garden. These eyes were wider set, glowing baleful yellow and amber. Puffs of mist blew softly before them, as if some deep-chested animal panted in the cold night air. Even from a distance Hoggle caught a whiff of damp fur and rancid meat, so sharply rank that he gagged on it.

With a muffled curse, he stepped back from the window and swept closed the curtains. It was true then, all the whispered tales and wild-eyed warnings were true. Hoggle knew then what he saw, though he had not wanted to believe it was real.

"Damn me," he said softly, stumping back to the fire to throw on an extra log. He lifted his gaze to the ceiling beams as if he could find the answers there. "Didymus, you were right. We're none of us safe now, no matter what we do."

Hoggle's hands shook, but he took up the iron poker and held it tight against his leg as if it could protect him. He remembered other nights, other times when he'd dismissed what he heard as the roll of distant thunder. It was so far away, Hoggle thought the storm would not come to him. He'd been wrong.

From outside came the sound of crackling twigs as the creatures moved in and out of the undergrowth, trampling it as they went. He could hear the creak of his garden gate as they nosed it open, the leaden padding of their paws upon the earth. The dwarf tried to shut his ears to the terrible sound so he could think. More prey could be had out in the villages and countryside. To pass so close to home meant they were searching.

Hoggle hoped they did not find what they were looking for.

* * *

Water ran down her body in rivulets, dappling the porcelain in coppery streaks. Blood and grime, sweat and dirt, all ground into her skin so deeply Reganne thought it might never come out. She scrubbed a piece of coarse muslin across her body in furious motions, dabbing at the long claw-marks upon her legs. They stung, but she ignored it. _Hot water and clean things..._ How Reganne longed to be clean again. 

Wringing out the cloth yielded water the color of weak tea. When she finished, the bath would be emptied, scoured, and then filled again-- after that, a third time until the water ran clear. She scooped up a bit of harsh lye soap, slippery between her fingers.

Later, she would smooth her face and arms with lotions and creams, milk soft and luminous with crushed pearls. The clinging odor of gore could be masked with perfumes, sweet incense wafted through the room until the air was pure once more.

But now, Reganne wanted something that would strip her to the last layer of skin. She lathered up her hands to loosen the dried blood caked in the folds of her knuckles and beneath her nails, worked the soap into her hair and scalp until the fumes stung her eyes. Bits of twig and leaves floated on the surface of the water, and she swept them away from her.

_Running, thorny bracken whipping their flanks as they ducked low to scent the earth. Nightfall. The prey left a blood trail hot and enticing and they knew what lay at the end of it-- splintering of bone, the rich taste of marrow flooding their mouths. They lifted their faces to the clear night air, blunt tipped muzzles painted wet and scarlet-black. _

_On a patch of grass damp with dew, the prey foundered. That was how the chase ended, with the baying of the hounds as the hunters followed behind, laughter like the cracking of whips. Powerful jaws snapping shut on something that struggled and squealed, small hands scrabbling in the merciless air. _

_One quick wrench and all the movements stop._

The water was tepid. Reganne realized she'd drawn her knees up to her chest, clasping her arms around them until she could barely breathe. Letting go was painful, her limbs stiff as if she'd been crouching there for hours. Rising from the bath, she reached for the pitcher of clean water kept warm before the little iron stove, cradling its broad base for just a moment.

Memories of the night's business swirled in her head, dark and bloody, but for just a moment the air that blew through the bath chamber was cool and clean, like the sky after a storm.

"Turn back before it's too late..." she said absently, the words seeming to come from nowhere.

Reganne flushed angrily, the hands that held the pitcher trembled. She needed no crippling mistrust of her own judgement now, not when she was so close. Fear and uncertainty would've kept her a caged thing in her father's house, ever his shadow and nothing more. She could not allow that to happen. Tipping the pitcher, Reganne let the hot water cascade down over head and shoulders, washing it all away.

It would never be too late. She would have it all.

* * *

The first pale grey streaks of light crept over the horizon before she slipped into bed next to him. Jareth lay curled on his side, one arm beneath the pillow and the other lying upon the coverlet. His shirt was of fine, white linen, open at the neck. If she looked closely, she could still see the tiny scars that pockmarked his throat, pale pink and fading fast. By noon, they would be invisible. Reganne laid a hand upon his chest, felt its rise and fall as if to reassure herself he was still hers. 

_Husband, blood of my heart..._

He sighed and she drew back, holding her breath. His blood, so bitterly shed. Well she remembered the taste of it, how it burned in her belly like strong liquor. Reganne shuddered at the memory of him twisting and bucking beneath her, lean back tensed tight against the bonds that held him fast. He'd cursed her until his voice was hoarse, even as she roused him again and again.

She bore the marks of their coming together on her body, high on the curve of her breast. Reganne brushed the spot with her fingertips, probing the tender flesh that would purple and bruise by evening. The heat of the bathwater had brought it out in sharp relief until it bloomed upon her skin like a rose.

Yet Jareth's sleep was easy, as if the night before had never been. She felt old to look at him thus, so fair and untouched. The sheets were warm from his body and she wanted nothing more than to fit herself to the curve of his arm.

_I am so sorry, my love. Forgive me. _

The Goblin King murmured in his sleep, too indistinct to hear. Reganne watched and waited. She wished he would say her name, dream of her. Unbidden, tears prickled hot against the pillow and she bit her back of her hand to keep them at bay.

"Jareth..."

Her husband slept on as if she were not there at all. Creeping as close as she dared, Reganne covered her face so that he would not see if he were to waken now.

_I would do anything to keep you._

* * *

**Author's Note:**_ Astute readers will see that Sir Didymus is a fan of Edgar Allan Poe. Those in the dark may want to look up the poem "Eldorado" to see what sort of tale captured his imagination so._

_Comments/reviews welcome. __Replies (if not made privately) are usually posted to my livejournal under **dmacabre**._


	8. The Skeleton Key

**Recap: **_Hidden away in the servants' quarters, Sarah is tormented by dark dreams and visions she doesn't understand. Sir Didymus rushes to the king's aid, losing himself in the dungeons below the castle until he is caught at last by enemies he cannot overcome. Someone knows of his doom, but does nothing. Meanwhile, Hoggle waits in vain for his friend, but the knight does not show. Instead, he's visited by beasts of nightmare, reeking of blood and the hunt.  
_

_His ordeal over, Jareth sleeps as his wife watches over him. The Goblin Queen is determined to hold on to that which is hers._**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Eight: The Skeleton Key**

Morning found Hoggle wrapped in an old blanket with the poker still grasped tightly in his fist. His mouth tasted like soot and sour ale, and his back was an agony of knots from lying on the floor. He had not dared to leave the fire all night and kept it burning even as the wood pile dwindled. Sleep only came in fitful intervals, and each time he woke, it was to the heavy tread of paws on his doorstep.

The beasts circled the cottage, crushing the snapdragon beds beneath his window. Hoggle would never forget the sound as they rubbed their bristled backs upon the timbers, low and harsh like the rasp of a file across burled oak. He could not tell how many there were, only that a few had been left behind to watch him while the others hunted. Sir Didymus never came.

_Damn their filthy demon hides if they caught him..._

Hoggle refused to think about it. He threw off the blanket and sat up, groaning as his muscles protested. The room was stale with the scent of smoke and the remains of last night's supper, congealed brown lumps in the cooking pot. Sunlight glinted through the slits in the shutters, the late morning breeze ruffling the curtains. The dwarf took a deep breath. He'd lived through the night, which was more than he expected.

One log remained in the woodbox and he threw it on the fire, kneeling on the hearth to stir up the glowing coals. As the flames crackled, Hoggle resolved to double the amount of wood before sunset and lay in an extra supply. If fire kept them at bay, no black-souled creature of the night would find him unprepared again.

The dwarf looked around him blearily. _I'll burn every stick of furniture in this place if I have to._

Stumping around the cottage, he set things to rights, sweeping the spent ashes into a pan to spread on the compost heap later. Half of the remaining water he'd drawn yesterday went in the kettle for tea. The rest he splashed on his face, drying himself on tail of his shirt.

"Nothing to fear by daylight," he reminded himself anxiously as he opened the curtains and fastened back the shutters, "And I'll not be called a coward again."

Hoggle's shoulders sagged, remembering how he'd failed Sarah. She'd forgiven him, but he had yet to forgive himself. He'd vowed that never again would he be found wanting when a friend needed him. It was all the more important that he should locate Sir Didymus as soon as possible. Hastily bolting some bread and cheese left over from the previous night's supper, Hoggle drank a cup of strong tea and made his plans.

The goats needed milking, but when that was done, he would set off for the castle. The dwarf was well-known in the kitchens, and there were a few maids he could trust to keep their eyes open and mouths shut. They might know of the little knight's whereabouts and could pass on a message.

If that failed, there was one other he could appeal to for help. He and the knight were not without allies. Shaking his head, Hoggle gulped down the last mouthful of tea, still scalding hot. He hoped that would not be necessary.

He wished he had a better plan, but that was Didymus' talent, not his, and Hoggle missed his friend all the more keenly for it. He cleared away the plates and cups, and when that was done, he wrapped the remaining bread in a napkin and put it away in the cupboard.

"Steady on," he muttered as he fetched the milking bucket from its corner, "You'll be no help to anyone if you lose your head. First thing's first and everything else will fall into place."

Bucket in hand, he unbarred the door. The sight that met his eyes shocked him to a halt. Four ragged claw marks were gouged into the wood, running straight from the lintel down to the base. Each splintered groove was deep as the width of a man's thumb, the exposed wood beneath raw against the door's weathered grey surface. Hoggle wrung the bucket handle as if it were someone's neck.

_Marking the territory, damn them,_ he thought furiously, _Just to frighten me and anyone else who might come calling._

"I won't have it!" His shout echoed through the empty birch grove and sounded very small.

He set his jaw stubbornly. There was little Hoggle could do about the door now, but when this was all over, he'd cut some good planks from the seasoned oak out back and build it anew. Hell-beast or no, they wouldn't get the best of him. _She_ wouldn't get the best of him. But when he turned away, Hoggle discovered that they had left him more than claw marks upon his front door.

Lying upon the ground beside the porch step: coil upon coil of slippery entrails, blood clotted dark and wet on the trampled grass.

Hoggle cried out in digust, clapping his handkerchief over his nose and mouth. The day's heat was already causing them to putrify, winding lengths bulging a sickly apple green as they threatened to burst. An army of flies crawled upon the ripening viscera, teeming over the glistening surface until it was black with wings and bodies. He retched, trying to keep down the meager breakfast he'd eaten.

There was nothing else, not a shred of meat or shard of bone-- only this scattered across his front garden. Hoggle did not have to wonder who it was meant for, and even the sun on his face and hands did not banish the sudden shiver that ran through him.

It was a warning.

* * *

Sunlight crept across the floor of his chamber, warming the foot of the bed and chasing away the last of the shadows. It was nearly noon. Lingering in the air was a sweet and musky fragrance like incense, quickly dissipating in the breeze from the open window. Had he dreamed? It seemed like he had, but the Goblin King did not remember it now. 

Reganne slept beside him, grasping a fold of his shirt. He detached himself gently, kissing her fingertips before he let her go. It was rare for his wife to still be abed at this hour; her habit was to rise before dawn. She managed her own affairs and Jareth would not interfere. He cared little for the court or entertainments, so he often saw nothing of her during the day. The nights were all they had, but they were all he'd ever needed.

Sometimes he'd wondered if his wife ever slept at all.

Jareth gazed upon her still form with playful interest. She was all regal composure before the court, but now she resembled nothing so much as a child in slumber. Reganne lay curled on one side, arm tucked beneath the pillow and her breathing deep and even. She could not have been long in his bed, for her hair was yet damp from her bath. Taking care not to wake her, he combed his fingers through it, spreading it across the pillow to dry. She instinctively turned toward his touch, murmuring his name.

Jareth hesitated, her dark hair still wound between his fingers like ribbon. Though it made little sense, his name on her lips sounded wrong and out of place. It evoked a recollection of some other place and time, watching over another girl as she slept and also called his name... But the memory was elusive as mist, vanishing as soon as he tried to grasp it.

The Goblin King dismissed it with a shake of his head. The nightmares always left behind a sinister taint, and he would not allow it to spoil the day. Rising, he dressed himself quickly, but with more care than usual. Jareth was ravenous as he had not been for weeks, and his wife and the dreams were soon forgotten. Food was all he wanted: buttered eggs and smoked trout, hot spice cakes split in two and spread with apple jelly, thick slices of wheaten toast, raspberries with honey and fresh cream drizzled over the top.

Smirking to himself, Jareth made a decision. He would not wait for a servant to be summoned. He looked forward to going down to the kitchens himself, sending the maids scurrying off in all directions. Ana would be furious, but the housekeeper rallied to every occasion. The Goblin King had every confidence she would do so again.

He would even send a page to roust out Sir Didymus to join him--

_Ah._ Jareth remembered. Sir Didymus had been sent away on urgent matters of... what was it? War. The thought should've sobered him, but the Goblin King felt strangely buoyant and unaffected, as if a draught of sparkling wine had gone to his head. There was time yet to deal with all of that-- he had nothing but time.

Fastening the last button on his shirt cuffs, he went off to the kitchens.

* * *

The cellar was cool and earthy with the faint odor of garlic. Strings of cured sausage dangled from the ceiling beams along with clusters of dried bay leaves. Jars of jellies and preserves lined the shelves, each one labeled in a precise hand. On a wooden frame with coarse muslin stretched and pegged tightly over it, someone had set out stalks of lavender to dry. 

Cian hung the lantern from its hook on the wall and the light flickered over stacks of pale yellow cheeses, casting shadows in the far corner of the room. She hefted a bag of potatoes over her shoulder, then looked over at Sarah.

"Need help?"

It was their third trip down to the cellar in the last hour, and Sarah thought her legs would give out before they could get back up the stairs. The redhead was stronger than her slight frame suggested-- despite her heavier load, she didn't look the least bit out of breath. Sarah wished she could say the same for herself. She felt grimy with sweat, hair plastered across her forehead and sticking to the back of her neck.

Cian looked little better. Earlier that morning, she'd slicked down her unruly curls with water, but as it dried they stood out like dandelion fluff. Her wrinkled tunic looked slept in and fresh grass stains adorned the knees of her breeches. Sarah hadn't asked her new friend where she'd been all night. She had a feeling any answer the girl gave would be full of words and empty of meaning.

She tried return Cian's encouraging grin. "I'm fine."

Sarah balanced a large milk pan in her arms, one hand lightly bandaged from yesterday's burn. Milk and the thick layer of cream floating on top sloshed from side to side as she started up the cellar stairs. For all her care, a little splashed over the edge of the pan, soaking her apron.

She groaned silently. _Starting over isn't exactly what I thought it would be._

The rest of the Labyrinth might be a place of magic and enchantment, but here Sarah was merely the newest kitchen maid-- and not a very competent one at that. All the simplest tasks had been left to her: gathering eggs, slicing bread, fetching butter up from the cellar. Sarah winced as she recalled how she'd run full-tilt into one of the footmen, sending his platter flying. Grapes and chunks of melon bounced all over the kitchen floor, but Ana hadn't said a word, only directed her to a broom and pan with a brief nod.

It was a humbling experience, to say the least. Sarah was determined to do better.

Back in the kitchen, servants streamed through the double doors bearing trays and baskets of hot bread. Cian plunged into the thick of it with her burden and was quickly lost to sight. Someone jostled Sarah's elbow and she cried out in dismay, struggling to hold the milk pan level. Shielding it as best she could, she pushed back against the crush of maids and footmen pressing in around her.

"Cian," she hissed in desperation, "Where are you?"

A burst of commotion at the door nearly upset the pan again when everyone around her surged forward. A scullery maid dropped her bucket and a wave of soapy water splashed over Sarah's shoes. The boy who turned the roasting spit abandoned his post and climbed up on a stool for a better view. Above it all, Ana's stern countenance was just visible, wielding a wooden spoon like a scepter.

"Clear the way, you fools," ordered the housekeeper, "Let His Majesty through."

Sarah froze where she stood, the milk forgotten. _Jareth, down in the kitchens? He'd never come here on his own, unless--_

A hand tapped her on the shoulder and she turned to find Cian grinning at her.

"This way," gestured the maid, "The Lady says he's not to see you. Not yet."

The pan was gently pried from her hands and Cian steered her through the kitchen and out the back door. The air was cooler in the courtyard, the open space shady and quiet. Moss grew in the cracks between the paving stones and pink-flowering thyme crept up the sides of the old well.

Sarah wished she was still back in the hot, cramped kitchen. She splashed water from the bucket on her face and hands, drying them hastily on her sleeve.

"Why is he here? Is he looking for me?"

"Looking for food, more like." Cian sat cross-legged in the shade of the blackberry patch and fanned away a few curious wasps. "Disappointed?"

Sarah hesitated, but the maid's keen glance kept her honest.

"Yes," she admitted, "With everything that happened, I used to think--" Sarah broke off in embarrassment. "It doesn't matter what I thought. It was just a stupid dream."

Cian wrapped her arms around her knees. "We all have dreams."

"I don't. Not anymore," Sarah tried to laugh, but couldn't keep the frustation from her voice, "They didn't do me much good. When I was home, I spent all my time wishing I was somewhere else. This is the first time in my life I've lived here and now. I told myself that I knew what to expect this time, but everything's changed again."

"Even him?"

Sarah thought about this for a while. "Yes and no. He looks... more or less the way I remembered, but he's changed most of all. Of all the things I thought he'd do if I saw him again, I never thought he'd forget me."

The maid edged out of her shaded seat a little into the sun. She picked a fat blackberry from the nearest bramble and popped it into her mouth, chewing contemplatively. The kitchen door stood open behind them, and from it came loud voices and the muffled clatter of pots and pans.

"I don't think he's forgotten," offered Cian, "People like him don't do that."

Without thinking, Sarah's hand went to the little knight's talisman, still tightly wrapped in its handkerchief and hidden in her bodice. She shucked off her heavy work shoes and cooled her aching feet on the paving stones. So much had happened the day before, it was her last thought before sleep and her first upon waking.

_Walking through the orchard, tall grass damp and cool against her legs. The gnarled tree, leaves all apple green and white with blossoms. Jareth sleeping beneath it, cloak spread about him so it lay darker than shadow._

Sarah's stomach gave a painful little jump. "Yesterday, I looked right into his eyes and he didn't know me at all."

The redhead still did not look up. All her attention was focused on a loose thread dangling from the hem of her tunic, a scrutiny so intense her pointed chin quivered. When she spoke, Sarah could barely discern the words over the kitchen chatter.

"Could be he hasn't forgotten, not truly. Could be that someone's--"

"That's quite enough."

The housekeeper stood over them, her hands folded tightly across her waist. Ana's mouth was a tense line, her dark eyes disapproving.

"Leave such fantasies for the bards and storytellers, it is not for us to speculate about the doings of kings."

Cian fell silent. Only a faint reddening of her freckled cheeks divulged any emotion, though she did not look the least bit apologetic. Defiantly picking another blackberry, she ate it with noisy gusto.

Sarah hid a smile behind her hand. _She's not sorry for what she said, she's sorry she got caught. I wish I could be that brave._

Lady Ana's flinty expression made her reconsider. The housekeeper's apron stood out in crisp folds as if it had been freshly starched and ironed. Not a single breadcrumb or spatter of grease could be seen, and her high collar was buttoned to her chin as if the heat of the kitchen did not affect her. Sarah felt even more rumplied and sweaty in comparison, and she smoothed back her hair guiltily.

Ana assessed her with a critical eye, ignoring the maid altogether. "On your feet, girl. You're needed."

Sarah got up, brushing at the dust on her gown and slipping on her shoes. _More firewood to carry in,_ she guessed resignedly, _Or maybe someone needs me to knock another breakfast tray out of their hands._

The housekeeper seemed to guess her mind.

"I have tried to reason with him," she said in clipped tones, "But the king is adamant. He will not eat if you are not there to serve him. So serve him you shall, with as few words as possible."

From the kitchen came two footmen carrying a small table, which they placed under a tree on the far side of the courtyard. A white cloth was spread over it, plates and utensils laid out on fine linen napkins.

Sarah watched it all with growing disbelief. _He's really coming, then. And he's asked for me._

She was certain Jareth had not recognized her the day before, there'd been no spark of it in his eyes. He'd treated her with an awkward civility that carried no memory of what Sarah had done, for good or ill. Yet maybe something had remained after all.

She only belatedly realized the housekeeper was still speaking.

"--too soon," Ana finished, "But it is out of my hands."

Sarah could only nod wordlessly. The older woman had already turned to the servants, snapping out orders. She glanced back at Sarah.

"_Try_ not to spill anything on him, girl," said the housekeeper. She lowered her voice. "And above all, do not tell him who you are."

* * *

Lying on the table was a key. 

It was small enough to conceal in the palm of one's hand. The shank had been cast in jointed segments, the iron blade ground fine until it gleamed a lustrous black. On the bow was set a sphere cut with shallow grooves spiraling from top to base. If one looked at it in a certain light, it was a rose, the petals just beginning to unfurl-- but from another direction, it resembled nothing so much as a tiny, grinning skull.

Reganne slipped naked from the bed, the covers wrapped around her shoulders. The room was empty and her steps fell noiselessly upon the floor. None saw the Goblin Queen in her bare feet, sheets draped over one shoulder and her hair falling loosely down her back. She'd forbidden her attendants to set foot in these chambers and no one else came to wait upon her. It was what she wanted.

Donning a loose gown, she crossed to the far side of the room where her dressing table stood by the window. All before the mirror were rows of bottles in many colors, blown glass with jeweled stoppers. The key sat on a bare corner, its twisted outline dark against the wood. She left it there untouched and looked out over the gardens. The long rectangle of the lily pool lay like a dark green shadow upon the grass, edged with boxwood and lavender. The day was already warm, the blue of the sky etched with a few feathered wisps of cloud.

Jareth was long gone, and for that she felt some sense of relief. When the sun was high, there were times he seemed almost he was before, dangerously sharp and so close to slipping away from her. It was how he carried himself, the way his eyes would grow suddenly remote, icy as a winter lake. Reganne would then remember the whispers in her father's court of the man who ruled the magic of the wildlands, the king no spell could hold...

It would never happen, she reminded herself. The oath he'd sworn would see to that, and the promise of a king was not so easily broken. Yet Reganne lived in dread of the day he might look upon her and remember that his wife was not what she claimed to be. He could not be given that chance.

_The blade, slender as a needle in her white hands. It caught the light as she turned it this way and that, bone hilt polished to a soft ivory. His breathing quickened just to see it, a reaction even Jareth could not hide. But the face he turned to her was resolute, his jaw set hard. Only the musical chime of the chains betrayed him as he braced himself against them. She knew the metal must bite into his flesh with the cold, but Jareth never showed it._

_"Get on with it," he said, the words flat and dead, "Only do me the kindness of cutting out my heart this time."_

_But she would never do that. _

_The tip of the dagger slid down his breastbone, leaving a thread of blood in its wake that beaded scarlet upon his skin. Her mouth followed, lapping up the coppery sweetness of him, silken and rich against her lips. High above, the shackles around his wrists creaked with the strain, and for a long time it was the only sound in the silence. But at last it came... the ragged gasp of breath, a hoarse moan._

_Behind the mask she wore, Reganne wept._

She splashed water from the basin on her face. It was not betrayal. Jareth did not know what power he wielded here, he could not possibly understand. Once it was over, Reganne would have the Goblin King; that was the promise she would wrest from her father. She would save him, and he would be hers in more than name.

Picking up Jareth's discarded shirt, Reganne folded it over the back of the chair. A few strands of blond hair lay upon the collar, and she freed them, letting them drift out the window on the breeze.

Only then did she allow herself to touch the key, and the metal was cold and unyielding as the dungeon door to which it belonged. Reganne could almost hear her father's admonition echoing in the empty chamber.

_A mistake, allowing your enemies to live._

The Storm King never permitted such weaknesses. That was why he'd sent her. Drawing back her hand, Reganne sat down at the mirror and began brushing her hair. This looking glass cast back the morning light, it was all sun without shadow. She allowed it because it did not remind her of the other mirror-- not of glass, but black water in a vessel of bone.

Reganne had a reason to hate mirrors.

But as she gazed at her reflection, she saw no tell-tale sign of what had passed the night before. Not a stray drop of blood remained, and her face was serene and unlined as if she'd slept in peace from dusk till dawn. Would that her heart was as untroubled.

_I do not accept failure._

"Yes, father," she said obediently, her mind far away.

She picked up the key and dropped it into the pouch at her waist. It slid against the smaller brass key with a dull clink and Reganne drew the pouch-strings tight. Their weight lay heavy and reassuring against her hip.

Picking up the brush, she began again, one thousand strokes of the dark hair as smooth and slippery as water-weed. Reganne hummed softly under her breath as she worked. Night would bring her another chance to accomplish what she'd sworn to do, but that was twelve hours away. Reganne had time to celebrate her small triumphs.

The king's counselor would trouble her no more.

* * *

The teapot shook in Sarah's hands as she poured, rattling against the lip of the porcelain cup. She'd managed not to spill anything, but that was her only achievement. Stifling a sigh, she placed a bowl of berries and honey before the Goblin King, setting a small pitcher of cream alongside it. 

Sarah was careful to do everything as the housekeeper instructed, but it seemed all her efforts were in vain. Jareth had directed her to begin serving and said nothing more. The rest of the time he'd eaten like a starved wolf, barely sparing her a glance.

Ignored and unnoticed, she memorized every detail of his appearance with a hunger that made her feel ashamed. Today he wore white and crimson, silver buttons at his wrists. The deep wine-red highlighted the fairness of his skin, fragile in its translucency. Standing beside him, Sarah could see how his hair fell silver-gilt over the nape of his neck, past the collar of his shirt with the top two buttons left undone. On the empty chair next to him lay a pair of gloves.

He did not look at her once.

Now his plate was yellow with traces of egg yolk, nothing remaining but half a griddlecake redolent with cloves and ginger. An almost empty dish of plum preserves sat nearby, the spoon still resting against the side of the bowl. Jareth pushed it this way and that, molding little mounds and valleys in the purple fruit. It didn't seem to make a difference to the Goblin King if Sarah served him or not, and she wondered if the housekeeper had told the truth.

_I'm not sure he even knows I'm here._

Leaning forward in his chair, the Goblin King tossed a piece of bread onto the grass and watched as two sparrows fought over the crumbs. As if by accident, his fingers brushed Sarah's hand and she let out a startled squeak. Jareth appeared not to hear. He took a fold of her sleeve between thumb and forefinger, rubbing it contemplatively as if he had never felt such material before.

"I remember you," he said with an uncertain smile, "From the garden yesterday. The girl with the basket. So you found your way back after all."

Sarah could only manage a nod. _So he does remember... a little._

"That's good. It is a terrible thing to be lost. I ought to know."

A sly look crept over the Goblin King's face, and Sarah saw that his eyes were wrong-- all fever-bright as if they saw more than what was before him. He motioned her nearer, so close that the movement of his breath stirred her hair. For one frightening moment, she thought she would lose her balance; the ground tilted beneath her feet.

"The Labyrinth isn't a safe place. You mustn't let down your guard. One wrong turn and you might never be able to leave it again."

Sarah forced herself to exhale slowly until the dizziness passed. It might have been a flirtation, if not for the ominous words of warning which rolled clumsily off his tongue.

_I think it's a bit too late to worry about that._ "I'll be careful," Sarah promised.

Jareth nodded, but when she made to move away, his hand closed firmly upon her wrist. Sarah swallowed a cry of protest. The contact of his bare skin upon her own was shockingly intimate, warmer than she'd expected. Jareth's hand looked vulnerable and naked without gloves: fingers slender and neatly squared at the ends, the slight bump of a writer's callus upon the first joint of his middle finger. He held her so tightly that she wondered if he could feel the flutter of her pulse beneath his fingertips.

"You should carry a charm, so that you will not get lost again. I shall make one for you."

He paused. "I used to be good at that sort of thing, you know..."

The sentence trailed off as he was lost in thought.

_Another charm,_ thought Sarah. _So this is how people get by in the Underground, through charms and spells and beautiful lies..._

She felt as though she ought to be angry, but for Sarah, there was nothing but the pressure of his hand upon her arm. It was anchored to her wrist as if Jareth might drift away if he let go.

But he did not look at her. Sarah fought the urge to put her hands on either side of his face and force him to look, as if that would make him remember.

_You once offered me my dreams._

Sunlight dappled the courtyard and the edges of the table cloth billowed in the breeze. More birds landed on the grass, squabbling and beating their wings fiercely as they pulled the bread to pieces among them. The noise brought Sarah back to reality, and she cast an anxious glance back at the kitchen door.

She cleared her throat. "Your Majesty?"

The Goblin King gazed off into the distance, watching bumblebees in their lazy orbits around the bright spires of foxglove. The dark of his left eye was like a forest pool, the piercing blue of the right like a mirrored piece of sky. Sarah's throat ached.

Face half-turned from her, he looked so like the man she'd met years before, only something was missing. That mocking look of challenge was gone, the vitality in him dimmed like a candle flame through smoked glass. Without it, he seemed a wraith, a pale shadow-king.

Sarah wasn't sure she could bear it.

Softer then, so that only he could hear. "Jareth?"

_Please, you've got to try_, she begged him silently. _You can't have forgotten it all._

Holding her breath, Sarah folded her free hand over his, interlacing their fingers tightly. Though the Goblin King had given no sign that he'd heard, she felt him grow stiller yet. Sarah thought of that dream that seemed so long ago now, flying through the moonless night on wings that shimmered with frost...

_Remember me._

The Goblin King started and looked up at her. For just a second, Sarah saw everything she expected to see in her old adversary: fear and anger, resentment and something wild she could not quite define. He seized her fingers in a bone-crushing grip, and Sarah cried out in surprise.

Then Jareth blinked, and the moment was gone. His hold on her relaxed, and he let her go with a murmured apology. Sarah stumbled back. The blister on her palm had burst; she could feel a sticky wetness was seeping up through the strips of cloth wound around her hand. The pain served as a sharp reminder.

_Too much. I pushed him too far._

She took a shuddering breath and tried to remember what Ana had told her.

_The perfect servant sees all but says little. He is there to anticipate every need, to answer every command. The perfect servant is invisible. So must you be, if you are to survive here._

It wasn't what she wanted, but perhaps it was what he needed. Sarah would be invisible. She thought back to her life in the city: the anonymity neatly enclosed in cages of glass and steel. Sarah excelled at invisibility. Bitter regret rose like acid in her mouth, but she ignored it and offered Jareth a stiff smile.

"Is there anything else, Your Majesty?"

His eyes narrowed at the cheerful query, but he dismissed it and any remaining confusion with a shake of his head. The vague and dreamy look returned. Sighing, he pushed his empty cup toward Sarah and nodded for her to pour.

"I am not quite myself today," explained the Goblin King ruefully, "It seems as though I haven't been myself for some time."

Although he did not seem to expect a response, Sarah tried to muster up the courage for a reply.

"Maybe you've been working too hard," she suggested lamely, "You should rest."

"Rest?" Jareth was genuinely surprised at the idea. "No, I cannot do that. There's so much to be done, you see... At least, I thought there was. There's something amiss, something I ought to be doing."

The thought made him anxious, and he picked up and set down his teacup several times without taking so much as a sip. Retrieving his gloves, he clutched them so tightly his knuckles whitened.

_He's trying,_ Sarah realized with relief. She darted another glance back at the kitchen door, but still no one came. Jareth was growing more impatient by the second, and she stalled for time.

"Like what?"

Her question made him pause, and Jareth looked up at her with some bemusement.

_Careful,_ thought Sarah. _He isn't used to being interrogated by the help._

But if the Goblin King found it odd that she should speak to him, he did not show it. He shrugged carelessly, his tone light as if they were merely discussing the weather.

"Making proclamations, perhaps. My counselor advised me that there were things I must do and soon..."

_Like getting a divorce,_ thought Sarah sourly.

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose as if his head ached, all the merriment gone.

"I've grown forgetful," he said almost too quietly for her to hear, "A king should not forget."

Sarah saw for the first time the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the weary set of his mouth. It was a sobering contrast to the artifical brightness which colored his earlier speech and mannerisms. Then he'd seemed nothing more than a frivolous gentleman of the court, all light and laughter. Now his face bore his age like a scar.

_He's so tired. And lost._

Sarah knew what it was to be lost. She dared to reach out with her good hand and touched him on the shoulder.

"Give it time," she said gently, "Maybe you'll remember."

Her words broke the melancholy air that hung in the courtyard. Giving her a civil nod, the Goblin King stood and let his napkin fall to the ground. Before he turned to leave, he paused. A snap of his fingers and a coin appeared from empty air. Jareth dropped it on the table, and it spun like a planet in miniature before falling on its side next to the teapot.

Sarah picked it up. It was a heavy silver disc so large she could barely fold her fingers around it. On one side was etched the twists and turns of the Labyrinth, a winding knotwork of walls. On the other was a sharp-peaked range of mountains and a lone tower with a single window shaped like a keyhole.

"You did tolerably well," said the Goblin King as he pulled on his gloves, "I shall inform your mistress."

It was a dismissal, and Sarah's hopes fell.

* * *

Ana did not wait for the king to leave the kitchen before she cornered Sarah by the ovens. The heat radiating from the brick was so intense that Sarah felt scorched all along one side and cold on the other where the older woman stood. 

Ana's eyes betrayed a hint of worry. "What did you say to him, girl?"

"Nothing," protested Sarah under that hard scrutiny, "I was... invisible."

The housekeeper made a skeptical noise deep in her throat. "Not invisible enough. He's asked for you again, and in no uncertain terms. This afternoon, you'll bring food and drink to the king's tower and stay as long he requires."

Sarah quickly glanced at Jareth's retreating form, his back tall and straight. Kitchen traffic parted before him and servants swept hasty bows and curtseys, but he looked neither left nor right. It was as if they did not exist at all.

"But if someone were to see me..."

_The queen._ She forced herself to think it. _ His wife._

Ana shook her head. "No one goes to the king's tower save the king himself. You'll be safe enough there."

She seemed no less at ease for it. Her hair had not a single strand out of place, but new lines had appeared about her mouth, her high forehead tense and knotted. Before Sarah could ask any questions, Ana's face shuttered itself like an empty house.

"Don't think it will be easy, child." The older woman looked down in cool disapproval, once more the austere chatelaine, "Danger will seek him out-- and you as well, if you cannot learn more caution. Do not let down your guard, not even with him."

When the housekeeper turned away, Sarah saw that she held a stubby length of burnt-out candle, her thin fingers wrapped tightly around it as if it were the hilt of a knife.

_That's twice now I've been told not to let down my guard,_ thought Sarah. _As if I ever could in this place._

But now she knew what she would do. Slipping her injured hand into the pocket hidden beneath her apron, Sarah touched the coin he'd given her. It was cold, cold as the Goblin King himself, but she did not care.

_He wants me there,_ she thought fiercely. _Nothing else matters. _

* * *

**Author's Note: **_Many thanks go to **Chelsey**, **Heist**,** Kelliane**, **Motchi** and **Whiteraven** who were kind enough to beta portions of this chapter for me. I'd begun to despair about ever getting this written to my satisfaction, and all their advice and suggestions helped immensely._

_Comments/reviews welcome. __Replies (if not made privately) are usually posted to my livejournal under **dmacabre**._


	9. Oubliette

**Recap: **_After an uneasy night's sleep with creatures of nightmare stalking outside his cabin, Hoggle awakens to a terrible sight-- a pile of bloody entrails rotting on his doorstep. It is a clear warning, and he fears the worst for Didymus. Alone in her rooms, Reganne savors her triumph over the king's counselor and pockets a mysterious key. Sarah is adjusting to the menial labor of the kitchens, but the tedium of her first day is broken when the Goblin King shows up unexpectedly. In vain, she tries to push him to remember, but gains little for her efforts except the promise of seeing him again very soon._

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Oubliette**

Sarah's hand throbbed and itched as fluid seeping from the blister fused the bandage to her broken skin. The linen strips crackled like parchment when she flexed her fingers, shedding flakes of dried pus. She prodded it experimentally, then sucked in her breath from the pain. The wound was hot and smelled like rotten meat, infection swelling the flesh like a ripe plum. Sweat beaded upon the bridge of her nose, trickling down her cheek. Sarah wiped it dry with her sleeve, then stretched out her hand palm-up, elbow digging fiercely into her thigh.

"Go on," she nodded.

Cian was gentle, teasing loose the frayed edges of the bandage little by little. But when the cloth pulled free it took patches of skin with it, and soon fresh blood spotted the clean towel spread over her lap. Crouched on a low bench near the fire, Sarah gritted her teeth and tried not to cry.

Her friend murmured an apology and picked up a small pair of scissors to trim the cloth as close to the burn as she could. Sarah's skin was tender to every touch, and when the metal blades slid over the pad of her thumb, they felt like needles of ice.

When she'd cut away as much as she could, Cian retrieved a pitcher and sponge. Marigold petals and lavender steeped in hot water, she'd explained. It would speed the healing and soften the stiff bandages so that the final layers could be removed. The cool sponge was a relief to Sarah's fever-hot skin, and Cian squeezed it again and again until the water no longer ran pink.

Sarah closed her eyes, but all the sounds and smells of the sickroom could not be shut out: blood and the ranker odor of pus, the quiet snick of scissor blades, the slightly antiseptic aroma of dried herbs as water splashed through her fingers into the enamel basin below. With her good hand, Sarah twisted the hem of her skirt into a knot, wrapping it tight in her fist. She felt sick and dizzy with pain, chilled even though she sat close to the fire.

"There now." Cian pulled the last shred of cloth free.

Underneath, the burn was an angry red stripe, a grisly bar sinister across the palm of Sarah's hand. Where the blister had risen and burst was wet, more clear liquid beading on the raw surface. New, smaller blisters had formed around it, raised and lumpy like seed pearls.

Cian surveyed the pile of soiled bandages with distaste. Pouring a generous measure of red wine into a kettle, she nudged it to the edge of the fire where the coals glowed orange-red. A roll of clean linen lay on the bench next to them, along with a pot of the pale green ointment she'd spred over Sarah's burn the day before.

"It's no good, we've waited too long. It'll need a more thorough cleaning before the wound rots."

Sarah said nothing. She _had_ waited too long. After Jareth left the kitchens, she'd escaped to the garden, sitting with her back against a willow tree. Hidden from sight, she looked up through the branches at the pieces of sky visible through the leaves, a mosiac of blue, white and green.

_He asked to see me again,_ she told herself. _ Somewhere deep down, he knows._

Sarah turned the coin he'd given her over and over in her hands. She tossed it into the air as he had done, watching its rise and fall. The coin hummed as it spun, a low, golden note that distracted her from the pain.

The time for reverie did not last long. Ana returned to look for her and she was even more brusque than before. She'd set Sarah the most trivial of tasks, beginning with sweeping the courtyard and drawing more water from the well. Many of the chores did not need doing at all, yet Sarah couldn't bring herself to care. She welcomed the work, since it allowed her to hide her face and gather her thoughts.

Didymus. She would find Sir Didymus again and the two of them would go to Hoggle. She would get them to tell her everything about what had happened in those eight long years... She would get them to tell her about the Goblin Queen.

By half past two, the entire kitchen was swept clean and the stack of firewood was waist high. Two sacks of potatoes were neatly peeled and soaking in cold water, and a basket of fresh mint had been harvested from the shady bed beneath the apple tree, yet Ana always found one more inconsequential task that must be completed. It was not until the clock struck three that Cian intervened and the housekeeper relented.

Examining the filthy bandage, Ana's mouth drew into an even tighter line. But her voice was not unkind when she dismissed them both from work, and Sarah thought she saw a flicker of remorse in those cool, grey eyes before Ana turned away.

_But what exactly was Ana regretting? _

Back in the sickroom, Sarah could not help but wonder. She opened and closed her fingers, looking dully at the pieces of dead skin curled like wood shavings on the bench. She wished she knew.

Cian busied herself with bundling up the discarded cloth for disposal and tipping the water out the window onto the flowerbeds below. Setting another kettle on the fire, she scrubbed her hands twice with lye soap, drying them on the hem of her tunic. When the water came to a boil, she poured a cup of tea and added a dollop of honey before pushing it toward Sarah.

"Drink up. It's best if you don't eat anything just yet."

Sarah breathed in the steam, relishing the warmth. Chamomile. It reminded her of rainy afternoons and sitting on the porch while Toby stomped through puddles on the driveway. It reminded her of lonely nights in the city, watching the street lamps flicker on one by one, their light refracted through her water-streaked window panes. Those days were far away now.

When her friend reached over to touch her hand, Sarah pulled it back.

"She said she would help me," Sarah said abruptly, "Will she, Cian?"

They both knew who Sarah meant.

The girl fidgeted uncomfortably on the narrow bench, adding too much honey to her tea and grimacing at the cloying sweetness of it. Sarah almost felt guilty for challenging her friend, but there were things she needed to know. Ana had promised to help her. Once upon a time, Sarah might've trusted the older woman's word, but times had changed and Sarah wasn't quite so trusting anymore.

Cian stirred the embers with a stick, her eyes on the wine as it heated slowly.

"My mistress keeps her word. If she said she would help you, she will... in her own way."

Sarah was all too familiar with this kind of help. "You mean she'll do what _she_ thinks is best."

The girl nodded, a little more at ease now. "It might not seem so at first, but things have a way of working out to the right in the end. The Lady will see to that."

Sarah wasn't sure she had quite as much faith in Ana as her friend seemed to have.

"The king has asked for me," said Sarah, watching her friend's face closely, "I'm to go to the tower this afternoon."

But if she hoped her declaration would trick Cian into confessing anything, Sarah was soon disappointed. Far from protesting or trying to stop her, the maid looked almost relieved. She pushed back the coals and hooked the kettle, pulling it a cooler part of the hearth. Handling it carefully, she poured its contents into a metal pan. Little bubbles rose to the surface and the smell of hot wine stungly harshly in their nostrils.

Cian dipped up a ladle full of wine, letting it cascade back into the pan to cool faster.

"Don't push him too hard, Sarah. You can't hope for so much this soon."

"I'm not hoping for anything."

The girl bit her lower lip. "Let him remember in his own time. It's not my story to tell, but there is more here than you know. You do not want him hurt."

Sarah looked evenly at her friend, finally offering her palm up for inspection. "Some wounds must hurt before they heal."

Cian neither agreed nor disagreed, only turned back to the fire and poured some of the wine into a wooden bowl. She sopped a clean cloth in it, testing the temperature against her forearm. The curls on her forehead were damp from the steam, but her small face was set just as stubbornly as Sarah's own.

"Not too hot, but hot enough," she said, "Are you ready?"

Sarah inhaled deeply, folding her legs beneath the bench and bracing her heels hard upon the floor. In her mind, she could see a silver coin spinning so fast the outlines blurred and it looked for all the world like an orb of pure crystal.

"No. But do it, anyway."

The wine-soaked cloth came down, swabbing gently across Sarah's palm. If not for Cian's steady grip on her wrist, she would have fainted. A ring of fire blazed around the edges of the wound, shooting to the very center like a lancet piercing nerves and bone. Sarah bit down hard on the knuckles of her good hand and tried not to scream.

She was one of the fortunate ones. This wound would heal.

* * *

It was a scene of chaos and disorder. Books lay broken-spined on the floor where he'd swept them from the shelves, loose pages piled in drifts. The rug was spattered with ink from an overturned bottle and each desk drawer had been methodically searched, the contents tipped out onto the desktop. 

The Goblin King sifted through it restlessly. Old letters, quill pens and sticks of sealing wax were jumbled about with other things: a glove with no mate, a faded length of silver-white ribbon, a snowy owl's feather. He picked up one object after another only to discard everything he touched. Jareth could not even say what he was looking for or why it was so important that he find it.

Wedged in the corner of his desk drawer was something oblong and hard. He pried it free. It was nearly the size of a walnut, with deep grooves and pits in the surface. The Goblin King cradled it in his palm, musing that it weighed almost nothing. He held it up near the window to better see.

The seed of some stone fruit, long discarded. Its whorled ridges were worn to a tea-colored polish from much handling.

Jareth placed it in a neat pile with all the other things. He did not think this was what he was looking for, but the uncertainty of it nagged him. Unconsciously, his fingertips stroked the top of the desk, the polished wood pockmarked with the occasional scar. There was something he said he would do, and therefore it must be done. A king kept his promises.

Unbroken cobwebs hung from the corners of the room, gleaming strands of spidersilk connecting each angled bookshelf like the finest lace. It was a secure space, his aerie above the castle-- nearly everything he needed was here. Though the sun was hot overhead, thick walls kept the chamber cool. The arched window behind him let in the light, leaving the rest of the room in restful shadow when the fires were unlit.

The darkness did not hide the disorder, nor did it conceal the thin layer of dust that lay over the few items that he had not yet disturbed. That too, troubled the Goblin King. He was meticulous by nature, but he could not conceive of servants entering the inner sanctum. A stranger's hands, rifling through his papers, shifting the objects on the shelves even to dust or clean... It was not to be borne.

Belatedly, he remembered the girl. Jareth had instructed the housekeeper to send her here, and now he cursed himself for ordering it. Aside from his counselor, it was not his custom to permit anyone to so much as cross the threshold, not even Reganne. The Goblin King made excuses time and time again to avoid her visiting him here.

Jareth brooded over this thought for a few minutes. Why wouldn't he want his own wife in this place of sanctuary? He picked up the ribbon, white silk with silver threads spun through it. It was fine as moonlight, and as he rubbed it between his fingers he feared it might fall to pieces.

The ribbon was a frayed and tattered relic, and he could not now remember where he'd gotten it or why he'd kept it. But it belonged. It all did, every single scrap of paper and dusty book, every oddment and bit of detritus was part of him.

Jareth thought of his wife, the dark braid of her hair swinging like a bell-rope as it fell to her waist. He imagined her standing in the doorway, the sound of her feet across the floor and the scent of jasmine that followed in her wake when she moved. Try as he might to see her sitting by the fire or trailing her hand across the bookshelf as she read the titles, he could not.

A thin ripple of unease ran down the ridge of his spine, keen as the point of a dagger.

She didn't belong.

* * *

The mint tea had been brewed strong, then mixed with cold well water. Hoggle sipped it cautiously. There was more than mint here: something tart, and to take the edge off, something sweet that was neither honey, nor sugar. He could not be certain what it was. The castle's housekeeper had a knack with dried herbs-- a pinch of this or that from various jars and boxes, and no two cups were ever the same. 

Over time, they'd made an uneasy game of it with Ana brewing the tisane and Hoggle guessing its contents. They were not friends, he and the housekeeper, but they were not quite enemies either. Hoggle was resigned. It was not much to build upon, but it would have to do.

He leaned up against the low wall and looked down the rows of onions stretching out before him. The flask of tea was nestled in a bed of damp moss at his feet, an untouched blackberry tart wrapped in a clean cloth next to it. He gazed at it unhappily, his appetite gone. He didn't want to be here, but had little choice in the matter. Didymus was nowhere to be found and Hoggle was fast running out of options.

When the scullery maids could tell him nothing, the dwarf even braved the castle itself to search Didymus' rooms. He felt like an interloper, tiptoeing past the cold hearth into the bedchamber with its tidily made up cot. The chest at the foot of the bed contained everything it should and nothing it shouldn't, and no message awaited him there, either. A stale piece of bread left behind told him that Didymus had not been there for a few days, but the empty traveling knapsack lying on the floor told him the little knight had not left the castle.

_Not by choice, at any rate._

It was not a comforting thought, just as standing by the willow gate in Ana's vegetable garden left Hoggle with the discomfiting notion that he was waiting for an audience with the executioner.

The housekeeper knelt in the asparagus beds, head bare under the afternoon sun. She wielded a small handle sickle, its blade curved like a crescent moon. Each stroke was swift and unhesitating. Hoggle had never seen anyone work so quickly, and her deft competence made him squirm.

_You could slice open a man's belly with that thing, _he thought to himself, _One stab and it would puncture like an old waterskin. Twist the blade and what's inside pours out._

He took a hasty gulp of his tea, hoping the mint would help settle his stomach. Hoggle tried not to think of the rotting viscera left on his doorstep as a warning, or how he'd scooped it up with a shovel and buried it in the farthest corner of the yard.

_Not Didymus,_ he'd told himself as he filled in the hole and tamped the dirt down like he was planting tulips. _It's not._

When he'd finished, Hoggle rolled a heavy white stone over top of it and told himself that it was merely to keep the wild animals away and not to mark any sort of burial site. He didn't believe in such foolish notions.

"I've not seen him," said Ana, working steadily, "Not for a few days. It's rumored the king will order him back to the borderlands to lead the goblin host."

That was more than the maids had been able to tell him, and the dwarf turned this over in his mind. It was a credible bit of gossip and not so bad as he'd feared. The western marches were a terrifying place, but there were worse fates for a Labyrinth creature in these dark days.

If this was all just anxiety getting the best of him, then he and Didymus would have a good laugh over it when the little knight returned. But Hoggle thought of the blood-soaked grass and the new patch of overturned earth behind his cottage and felt sick again. He had to be certain.

He steeled himself and took an audible slurp of the tea. "Refreshing," he said loudly, "Sweet, but not too sweet. It's unlike Didymus to go without saying goodbye. Applemint?"

If Ana was thrown off balance by the dizzying back and forth of subjects, she did not pause in her harvest.

"A bit of applemint, some spearmint... and other things. The king's counselor left no message with me, not for you or anyone else."

"Could be he had to leave in a hurry, then."

The sickle flashed in the sun and another handful of asparagus went into the basket. "Could be."

Hoggle poured himself another mugful of tea. The rich scent of loam and compost drifted up, and he noted with approval that not a single weed or dandelion grew in the vegetable beds. Someone had raked the rows and left straight tracks in the soil, and the feathery fronds of asparagus smelled fresh and damp from a recent watering.

It made him wish he were back in his own beloved garden instead of here, circling with Ana and trying to wield words like a fencer's foil. That too, was Didymus' skill, not his. But for his friend's sake, Hoggle would give it a damn good try.

He sniffed appreciatively at his cup. "Rosehips?"

The housekeeper permitted herself a dry chuckle of satisfaction. "No."

_Blast,_ thought the dwarf. _She does know something, and it's not just about the tea._

"It's not like him leave in such a hurry," said Hoggle, "He's usually better prepared than that. Not that he wouldn't want to command the army, of course."

He looked down at lonely blackberry tart-- Didymus' favorite-- and the studied nonchalance slipped a bit. "He's always wanted to lead them into battle, but he was too proud to ask. He wanted to be sure he'd earned it."

At this the housekeeper almost smiled. "Sir Didymus is ever mindful of his duty."

"He is that, and loyal to a fault." Hoggle squinted into the sunlight, then decided to launch headlong into more dangerous territory. "He wouldn't leave the king for all the armies in the Underground-- not if he thought Jareth needed his help."

"He is a true friend, then. Those are increasingly rare these days."

It was difficult for the dwarf to tell if Ana was mocking him or not. She never paused or slowed her pace, slender back bent sharply at the waist and apron smoothed neatly across her knees. Her basket was nearly full, and now she cut the stalks with slower deliberation, slicing through the woody stems until they yielded with an audible snap like the breaking of bones.

"Jareth's no friend of mine and he's free to get himself out of his own messes. But Didymus is another matter. I won't let him down if he's in trouble."

The last handful went into the basket, and Ana brushed the earth from her skirt.

"Your concern is admirable," she said as she got to her feet, "But if the knight found greater misfortune than he anticipated, he might be beyond any aid you or I could provide."

The basket over her arm, she held the sickle loosely in her hand, letting the half-circle blade swing gently back and forth.

Hoggle edged back closer toward the wall. "But that doesn't stop a person from trying. You would help if you could," he said shrewdly, "People like you and I don't like being beholden to anyone. We don't like to have old debts hanging over our heads."

The housekeeper gave him a sharp glance. "What would you know of debts?"

"You don't live as long as we do without having to ask for help. Giving it in return is keeping the balance." Hoggle sipped his tea. "Lemon balm?"

A terse nod. Ana was no longer enjoying their game.

"I owe nothing to the knight."

The dwarf nodded as if in agreement, but his tone was polite contradiction. "Didymus once told me a funny thing. He said that even though he wasn't as well-acquainted with you as he'd like, he believed he could count on you in a tight spot. High praise from him, you know. He doesn't say that of many people."

Out of the corner of his eye, Hoggle thought he saw the housekeeper flinch.

"But as you say," he remarked, setting down his cup, "A true friend is a rare thing these days."

He didn't wait for Ana's reply. His foot had fallen asleep from leaning so long against the wall, and as he limped away, Hoggle realized he'd never guessed the last ingredient in the tea.

_Likely to be hemlock next time,_ he thought grimly. He consoled himself that it had not been a wasted trip. _Greater misfortune than he anticipated, eh? If that's what Didymus has gotten himself into, then it's up to me to get him out, with or without the help of any fair-weather friends of his._

The dwarf didn't dare risk a look back, but he felt the woman's gaze boring a hole between his shoulderblades. He knew she would still be standing there, tall and unbent, the sickle blade in her hand.

_Some friend she turned out to be, Didymus,_ he grumbled to himself. _I don't think I care for the company you keep._

Hoggle spat twice to get the taste of mint out of his mouth. Treachery was the coin of the kingdom these days, and he trusted no one.

* * *

The king's tower lay to the east, stark grey against the summer sky. Bindweed and ivy grew at the base of it, wrapping around the column and crowning it with drifts of white flowers. The roof slates were overgrown with amber lichen, and moss clung to the tiles in uneven patches like a snake shedding its skin. It had the air of a place long abandoned, and Sarah could see why few people dared venture up to the foot of the stairs. 

She stopped to adjust the straps that held a large basket on her back, shifting its weight from one shoulder to the other. Ana had packed it herself: two bottles of wine, half a cold roast chicken and several thick slices of ham, a round of cheese wrapped in grape leaves, and a few spicecakes left over from breakfast, smeared with soft butter and apple jelly. The bag slung over her arm held bread and fruit.

The housekeeper had spoken little, asking only to look at Sarah's injured hand. Cian's neat bandaging job won a nod of grudging approval, but Ana offered no instructions other than for Sarah to remain as long as the king had need of her. Sarah noted with apprehension that the older woman had packed enough food for two.

Crossing the courtyard, she passed beneath a high archway with a curious sigil carved upon the lintel: two serpents coiled in the outline of infinity, each swallowing the other's tail. Sarah touched the stone, cool despite the warm day. She'd seen the symbol before, though she'd given little thought to it then. It had been wrought more plainly in gold and silver on the breastplate of Jareth's armor, again on the pendant around his neck. She knew what it meant now.

_Forever._

A trick of the light made the serpents seem to writhe under her gaze, but it was only shadows and the wind. Even knowing this, she drew back her hand. Cut deeply into the stone and framed by ivy, the device seemed far grimmer than Sarah remembered. It was an appropriate one for Jareth-- power, mystery and eternity all in one.

_For the king who never grows old, whose beauty never fades with the passing of time. _

A gust sent the bindweed trembling, shell-white blossoms nodding like silent bells beside the pale green tendrils curling upward. The ivy vines were old, perhaps old as the structure itself. Their roots-- thick as a man's wrist-- thrust deep into the ground, burying themselves deep in earth and rock. As the wind blew, they creaked and groaned like a chorus of old men. Given time, their dense tangle of growth would swallow the tall spire, a living shroud for a relic of an age long past.

Sarah thought it no mystery that the tower was so remote and forbidding. The Labyrinth obeyed Jareth's command: the forests and murky waters of the foul bog, the desolate wasteland with bleached bones half-buried in the sand, the endless maze with its wrong turns and pitfalls. He was hidden in its heart like the greatest secret of all, yet all the pathways led to him.

The land knew its king.

The steps climbed up in a tight spiral with no railing except a rounded ledge of stone that followed its steep incline. Scales like a serpent's had been cut into the top of the ledge and below were flat armor-plates like reptilian skin. With only a brief hesitation, Sarah steadied herself on its curved back, the sculpted rock rough beneath her fingertips.

Fresh bandages adorned her injured hand-- Cian had been brutally thorough. The wound was probed until it bled anew, hot wine spilling out over Sarah's palm until it ran down her arm in steaming rivulets. The smell of it still clung to her skin.

Feeling faint again, she concentrated putting one foot in front of the other. Slits at regular intervals let in light and air, but the stairwell was warmer than outside and the exertion made her warmer still. She tugged at lacing of her bodice to loosen it, careful not to dislodge Sir Didymus' token hidden within.

Sarah carried the scent of the sickroom with her, and her hasty wash in the courtyard had done little to dispel it. Red wine and herbs to purge the poison, ginger and chamomile to soothe the racking heaves that followed after. Before she'd left, Cian tucked a tiny bouquet of late violets and wild thyme into Sarah's apron pocket.

"For luck and courage," she'd said, giving her a crooked little smile.

It seemed as if Ana's garden held a cure for all human ills, but no one could help her with this.

The door at the top of the stairs stood slightly ajar. Before Sarah could raise a hand to knock, the Goblin King spoke from within, distracted and impatient.

"Enter."

Books were scattered across the floor, some in teetering piles, others lying open, their pages loosed from their bindings. A narrow path to the door had been cleared, but only just-- the deep green carpet with its pattern of golden leaves could barely be seen underneath the piles of papers.

The desk was the only tidy object in the entire room, its surface cleared of everything except a stack of scrolls and a massive tome propped open on a block of wood. The Goblin King turned a page, making a careful notation on the parchment before him. His cloak was tossed carelessly over the back of the chair, fair hair in slight disarray as if he'd been running his fingers through it.

"I trust you weren't planning to stand there in the doorway all day."

He looked up from his work, quill in hand. The dreamy carelessness from earlier that day was gone, and the pointed look he gave her was as close to his former self as Sarah had seen yet: one eyebrow arched in a sardonic query, lips pursed in an expression that was not quite a smile. Its very familiarity halted her where she stood. Even after so many years, he could still make her feel like the insecure, spoiled young girl she used to be.

Sarah tightened her grip on the bag, the basket's weight reassuring on her back. _Only I'm not a child anymore, Goblin King. _

Balancing her burdens, she crossed the threshold. Jareth's study was dimly lit, permeated with the faint perfume of old books and incense. Despite its chaotic state, there was something comfortable and lived-in about the room, and Sarah felt immediately at home, as if she'd been there before. Bookshelves covered the walls from floor to ceiling with small cubbyholes containing everything from polished shards of amethyst and smoky quartz to a bowl of what Sarah feared were mouse skulls.

_Like a museum, only smaller._ She only just refrained from touching the small statue of a dragon, sinuous body carved in white jade. The spiny crest running down the length of its back was so delicate as to be translucent, and grasped in its tiny claws was a black pearl.

_A cabinet of curiosities._

Stepping carefully around the fallen books, Sarah cleared off a low table by the window. Ivy grew right up to the ledge, and curling around its stout stem was a single strand of morning glory, trumpet-shaped flowers a brilliant blue. Sarah started unpacking, laying out the items one by one.

The Goblin King regarded her every movement in silence. At last, he shut his book with a thump.

"You're a strange sort of servant," he said in a mildly critical tone, "One who doesn't wait for orders, but simply does as she pleases."

Sarah glanced at him, wary. This wasn't quite the Jareth she knew, though the way he tilted his head to one side reminded her very much of the old Goblin King. He sat with his his legs stretched out before him, arms folded across his chest.

"My orders were to bring you food and drink and stay as long as you needed me."

Jareth shrugged as if it didn't matter one way or the other. "A fitting task for a kitchen mouse. You may consider your duties complete."

The term stung. It reminded her of the Goblin Queen's cool scrutiny, the dismissal in her laughter as Sarah and Cian knelt before her, gravel biting into their hands and knees. Sarah had learned what it meant to be invisible, nothing more than a pair of hands to fetch and carry.

_Kitchen rats. Faceless, nameless workers to serve their every command and then disappear when they're no longer wanted._

All the ginger tea she'd drunk couldn't keep down the rising nausea that squeezed her throat shut. She'd read too much into her earlier encounter with the Goblin King. The coin that weighed down her pocket was no talisman, only payment for services rendered. He'd given it without a thought. He was not thinking of her at all.

Something in her face betrayed her hurt and disappointment, and the Goblin King could not fail to notice it. Jareth looked almost ashamed, then caught himself.

"Do not be so easily offended," he said defensively, "Mice are very loyal, resourceful creatures. If you'd ever spoken to one, you'd know that."

His glare of annoyance was comical, and even Sarah had to choke back a smile. All too well she remembered the thrashing beat of white wings against the glass, the crack of thunder when the window flew open and his lean shadow upon the floor. Their first meeting had frightened her so much as a girl, but now she saw it in an entirely different light.  
_  
And what kind of conversations do you have with them, Your Majesty? _she wondered sarcastically. _Hello, you're looking very tender today?_

The imagery such an exchange conjured up was absurd, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Jareth was speaking again, and he scowled.

"I said, do you have a name?"

Sarah almost blurted it out, but stopped herself at the last moment. _Not one I could tell you, Goblin King. I can't take the risk that anyone else would hear and remember it. _

"I-- No." _ Damn._

"Then Mouse you are and Mouse you shall be, and I'll hear no more about it." Jareth turned back to his book. "What else do you want?"  
_  
I want to go home,_ she thought. _I want my boring job and my boring life back again, anything as long as it means I'll never have to stack another woodpile or haul another bucket of water._ Sarah sighed inwardly. She didn't mean it.

"Lady Ana told me," she said, choosing her words with precise emphasis, "That you'd asked for me."

Did she imagine a flicker of consternation crossing his face? The Goblin King laid aside his pen, and now he held something in his hands, almost hidden from her sight. It looked for all the world like a piece of ribbon, which he wound around his wrist and between his fingers until it became a cat's cradle of knots and tangles. All his concentration was bent upon it so that he barely seemed to be listening._  
_

_Please don't let this be just another one of his silly whims._

She wanted to mean more to him than just another nameless face. Sarah needed to believe that his memory of her was still there, lost in some dark oubliette and waiting for the door to open.

She spoke more firmly this time, her voice loud in the hushed room. "You asked for me. You wanted me here."

When Jareth looked up again, his hands were empty.

"Of course," he said somewhat automatically, "I remember it well, though I do not recall precisely why. There must have been a reason."

The Goblin King sounded as if he could not imagine what that reason could be, and a few awkward moments crawled by.

Cian's words of warning echoed back at her. _Don't push him too hard. Don't hope for too much so soon._

"I think," offered Sarah, "That you needed my help."

She held her breath for his reply, but Jareth did not seem inclined to give one immediately. A faint line had appeared between his brows, as if he did not relish the idea of her presence at all.

"Such a thing is possible," he conceded, "There is much work to be done here."

There was no denying that, thought Sarah as she looked around in dismay. More books lay on the floor than remained on the shelves, and there was no recognizable order to any of them. Sarah tried not to wince as she thought of how much effort it would take to catalogue the hundreds of volumes._  
_

_My blisters will have blisters. I hope you're worth it, Goblin King._

Moving toward the nearest shelf, Sarah started guiltily as parchment crackled underfoot. A page from a book on rare wildflowers now bore the imprint of her heavy work shoe. She tried to brush it clean on the corner of her apron, smoothing out the wrinkles.

"Books should never be treated like this." She could not quite keep the accustory tone out of her voice.

Jareth raised one eyebrow. "An opinionated kitchen mouse, I see."

Too late, she remembered who she was supposed to be, but the Goblin King was not angry, only curious. She had his complete attention. Sarah bent and picked up a dusty book, running her finger along the spine. She checked the binding and saw that it was not broken, then carefully closed it before sliding it back on the shelf.

"Books are precious things," she said at last, "They should be handled with respect."

"Do you care so much for words, then?"

Jareth was leaning forward, hands pressed down upon the cover of his book so tightly his fingertips were white. His gaze never left her face, but his own revealed nothing.

Sarah could not meet his eyes. Instead, she looked around at the half-empty shelves and their dark recesses, the wisps of spiderwebs on the ceilings beams and the single window. The sun had dropped lower in the sky, light outlining each ivy leaf on the ledge in gold. Beyond them were the castle gardens with their high stone walls, the edges of the Labyrinth and the dark treeline stretching out to the horizon.

Somewhere she could hear a clock ticking away the seconds, counting down thirteen hours. Sarah didn't know if it was real or another ghost from the past, come to haunt this place of shadows. Dressed in crimson as vivid as a flame, Jareth was the color of pale jade himself, still as a statue as if he, too heard the ticking of the clock.

"I didn't always," she said at last, "A long time ago, I said something I didn't mean, and then it was too late to fix what I'd broken. I'm not so careless now."

Those were the right words, and the Goblin King's shoulders relaxed. His hands moved over the book's worn cover in an unconscious caress.

"Then stay," he said simply, "For as long as I have need of you."

* * *

Alone in his dank cell deep beneath the castle, Sir Didymus drifted in and out of his waking dreams. 

_He was running through the forest, tangled undergrowth tearing at his clothing and lashing across his face. Stinging nettles and blackthorn whips laid flesh open to the bone. His vision was a crimson-black blur, blinded by blood and sweat. Behind him were the hounds, calling out to one another in throaty voices that echoed beneath the dense canopy of trees. Their shadows circled, pulling ever closer. They were faster than he; they would reach him soon, no matter how fast he ran or where he chose to hide. Every breath came like fire in his lungs, ribs strained and aching sharp with every intake of air._

_Hunted._

_Gnarled roots caught him about the ankles like a poacher's snare and he went down hard. The odor of dirt and leaf rot filled his nose and mouth, wet and choking. Already he could feel the heavy paws shake the earth, claws and teeth worrying the back of his neck. They would bury him here, deep in the bowels of the earth where no light ever came..._

Sir Didymus groaned and shook the sleep from him as a dog shakes off water. The thick ruff of fur about his neck was soaked in sweat and his shoulder hurt. He'd wrenched it badly in the struggle and the chill damp stiffened the muscle. Rolling onto his side, he eased it into a more comfortable position and took stock of his surroundings.

It was not entirely dark in the oubliette. A peculiar type of lichen clung to the walls, giving off a faint phosphorescence to see by. When Didymus' sight adjusted to it at last, he could make out his prison. This oubliette was a natural cave, the builders had only to bolt a heavy metal grate over its opening to complete it.

The space was low and oblong, no larger than a hog pen. The floor was covered in smooth bumps and ridges and slippery columns of rock grew up from it, some as thick as tree trunks. Sound echoed oddly off the walls here, and even his own breathing seemed too loud.

In the far corner, water dripped off the stalactites that hung from the ceiling, forming a small pool. Didymus sampled it and was relieved to find the water flat and metallic tasting, but otherwise clean. He would not die of thirst, at any rate.

_Nor hunger,_ he thought with some triumph. _Not yet, by my lady's grace._

He carried no timepiece, but his belly told him it was well past breakfast. The small bag of supplies Sarah put together for him still contained an apple and several hard-boiled eggs. She'd even thought to pack him some salt, wrapped in a small twist of paper. Sir Didymus laid it aside and carefully peeled a single egg, savoring it in small bites. When he was done, he pondered a while, then also ate the shell.

Hunger partly sated, Didymus briskly patted down his pockets and took inventory of his posessions. The lantern and dagger were long gone, but they had not thought to search his person and for that the knight was grateful. Fumbling a little in the dark, he took off his left boot. Concealed in the inner lining were a dozen slender steel rods as long as his paw, some with a slight hook on one end.

Sir Didymus was a practical sort of knight. In his years of experience, he'd found that a sword was all very well indeed, but a good lockpick set attracted far less attention.

He crawled over to the heavy iron grate and propped himself against it. With his good arm, he reached through the bars and inserted the hooked end of one pick into the keyhole. He twisted it first to one side, then the other, his ear pressed against the back of the lock.

_Steady,_ he told himself, _Don't rush, lest haste lead thee to error._

Eye closed in concentration, Didymus listened intently to the only sound that mattered-- the soft click and scrape of metal against metal. His whiskers twitched with indignation and a driving single-mindedness for his task. The false queen would soon find that no prison could hold a knight against his will.

_Tick._ Inside the rusted lock, a tumbler fell into place.

Sir Didymus smiled grimly and kept going. He would get out if it took him a thousand years.

* * *

_Comments/reviews welcome. __Replies (if not made privately) are usually posted to my livejournal under **dmacabre.**_

_**Author's Note: **Thank you all for being patient with the slower updates and for your kind comments! I try to answer them all and appreciate every single one. To answer a few queries, I'm not currently suffering from writer's block, I've just been busier than usual and not able to write as quickly as I used to. Please don't worry, there are no plans to abandon the story. I have a rough idea of what will happen between now and the ending, it's simply a matter of getting it all squeezed into a coherent narrative._


	10. A Secret in the Blood

**Recap:**_ Alone in his tower, Jareth looks over relics from a past he no longer remembers and is troubled. Hoggle confronts the housekeeper in the garden, but Ana can tell him nothing of Sir Didymus' whereabouts and he is determined not to rely upon the aid of dubious allies. As ordered, Sarah goes to the Goblin King's tower where they have a tense exchange of words. Jareth does not remember who Sarah truly is or what she means to him, but despite his uncertainty about having her near, he asks Sarah to stay. _

_In a dark cell beneath the castle, Sir Didymus awakes and begins to mastermind his escape._

* * *

**Chapter Ten: A Secret in the Blood**

Sorting books in the Goblin King's library was not as easy as Sarah thought it would be. They were heavy, some so large it took both hands just to lift one. Sitting cross-legged on the floor with her skirts tucked up around her, Sarah shifted them from one pile to another, matching up loose pages and alphabetizing the titles. She riffled through sheets of poetry and hand-drawn maps, illustrations of plants and wildflowers where someone had painstakingly added faint blushes of color to each leaf and petal.

Jareth was nothing if not an eclectic reader. The library contained a leather-bound copy of Le Morte d'Arthur so old the binding crackled. There were volumes of Rossetti, Edgar Allan Poe, and books in languages Sarah didn't even recognize. Their pages were yellowed and musty, the ink faded to a sable-brown. More than once she shut a book only to send clouds of dust billowing up that made her nose itch and her eyes water. The stacks grew so high Sarah could barely see over them.

Not once did Jareth offer to help.

The Goblin King sat reading through the many scrolls piled upon his desk, occasionally writing a dispatch or two himself. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he held a stick of scarlet wax over the candle flame, letting it drip on the parchment before imprinting it with a little seal he kept in the drawer. Jareth appeared to be entirely absorbed in his work, except that every once in a while he interrupted with an infuriating remark that revealed he'd been watching all along.

"You've shelved that one upside down," he said once, his tone suspiciously mild.

And another time: "Far be it for me to dispute the literacy of a scullery maid, but I believe that The Care and Cultivation of Bog-Lilies comes _before _Cats, Rats and the Goblin Diet."

Sarah had spent every summer of high school working in the local library, and it was only self-restraint that kept her from throwing a book at his head. She suspected that far from being irritated, Jareth was almost enjoying it. Their conversation turned into a cautious dance, brief exchanges punctuating the silence.

"Your library," she said in pointed response to his criticism, "Looks as if it's been hit by an invading horde of goblins."

"Nonsense. If it had been goblins, you'd see far more teethmarks on the spines."

Sarah silently conceded his point. She had yet to see a single goblin since her return to the Labyrinth, but she remembered well how destructive they could be. Standing to stretch her cramped legs, she ran her hand along the bookshelf. A significant number of the titles were about the little creatures in one way or another, and it was funny to think of Jareth consulting them. He seemed an unlikely caretaker at best, and Sarah could not imagine how he'd even landed himself in such a position. She recalled how the goblins had flooded the city streets, unruly and disobedient as children.

_There were so many back then,_ she thought idly, _I wonder where they've all gone._

Sarah continued reading titles, negotiating a careful distance around the bowl of mouse skulls. Like so many other places in the library, missing books left a gap on the shelf. A massive volume of military history had toppled to one side, its thick spine jutting out like a signboard. Sarah peered closer.

In the opening behind the books was the soft gleam of gold.

Whatever it was had been thrust so far back on the shelf that she had to stand on tiptoe just to reach it, her sleeve smearing a track in the dust. The object was hard and thin; Sarah only just managed to hook it with her fingertips and pull it closer. When she saw what it was, she nearly dropped it.

It was a gold band in the shape of a serpent, lithe body coiled like a spring. Paper-delicate wings lay folded against its sides with talons like a raptor's curled beneath it. Its deeply hooded eyes were cut garnets, glittering like two drops of blood against scales no larger than the head of a pin. The metal was heavy and curiously supple, warming quickly beneath Sarah's hand. Its weight was hypnotic. She wanted to put it on.

_What are you? _she wondered silently._ I think I've seen something like you before..._

Sarah moved as if she had no will of her own, rolling up her sleeve and slipping the band on. It was a perfect fit, the creature's head nestling into the hollow on the underside of her wrist. She could feel the beat of her pulse against it, so strong that it sounded like thundering of horses' hooves upon hard-packed earth.

The bookshelf before her blurred and wavered, replaced by a vision of roaring flames and lean figures silhouetted against them, barbed spears pierce the hazy sky like a sea of thorns. Heat and ash seared her lungs, and the thundering grew louder until the very earth trembled--

_Goblin Queen..._

Sarah gasped. For just a moment, the creature's tail lashed angrily and its eyes sparked; the band tightened unbearably around her wrist, embedded so deep it seemed part of her arm. The sensation was pain and pleasure sweetly mingled with a power that quickened in Sarah's veins like wildfire. It raced to lance her heart like a thousand golden needles, glowing white-hot in the flames.

Then she blinked and the illusion was gone.

The sound of the clock ticking seemed harshly amplified in the quiet of the library. Her heart still pounding, Sarah breathed in the cool, musty air. The bracelet was just an ordinary bauble, cold and shining on her arm. None of it had been real.

When she looked up, the Goblin King was gazing at her with a keenly speculative expression. Sarah tore the bracelet from her wrist as if it burned her and thrust it back into place.

"It's gone all dusty," she blurted out unconvincingly, "I'll have to clean it later."

To her relief, Jareth raised his eyebrow, but did not remark upon her flimsy explanation.

"Be careful. It is very old."

_What the hell do you think you're doing?_ thought Sarah, angry at herself for ruining the uneasy truce. _Handling everything as if it belongs to you. You're not exactly queen of the castle._

_No,_ she thought. _But I could be._

It was a rebellious thought Sarah barely recognized, one that sent an icy stab of misery to the pit of her stomach. She forced herself to turn back to the bookshelf, sorting in silence until she could stop shaking. It was stupid and arrogant of her to even think it. Who was she in this world? Nothing but a kitchen rat.

Even if she weren't, it would be impossible. Jareth already had a queen...

Everything Sarah thought she knew turned upside down and a terrible clarity crept up upon her like rising floodwater. The Labyrinth so altered and empty, its inhabitants in hiding, Jareth caught in the mist of a dark dream-- and in the center of it all, a queen so beautiful and so cold, like a deep, moss-choked well that never saw the light.

_Oh, Didymus,_ Sarah realized. _You tried to tell me._

She stacked books mechanically, barely paying enough attention to tell one title from another. When the small silver-faced clock above the door chimed a quarter past five, the Goblin King set down his quill pen.

"I believe that will be enough work for the day," he said quietly.

The sheet of paper in front of him was blank; he, too, had been pretending to work. Now he looked at Sarah as if she were a wild animal whose presence filled him with both curiosity and misgiving-- a threat to be assessed and acted upon accordingly.

The sun had begun to slant through the ivy that surrounded the window, heating up the small chamber. Jareth picked up the discarded gloves that lay on his desk, held them for a moment, then put them down again. He gave Sarah a crooked little smile.

"I cannot think over the rumblings of your stomach, Mouse. Does Ana not feed her kitchen staff?"

Sarah reddened, recalling her original purpose in coming to the king's tower. The basket of food still sat on the table near the window. She wiped her dusty hands on her apron and unwrapped the bread, the warm scent of it reminding her of how hungry she was.

"I imagine she's done her best to pack enough food for an army."

The Goblin King's approach had been noiseless and now he was unpacking the basket himself, taking the cloth-wrapped bundles from Sarah's startled grasp. She'd forgotten what it was like to have him so close. The deep red silk of his tunic lent a rose flush to his skin, and he smelled faintly of ink and paper. At such close range, she could see the lighter strands of silver in his hair.

When their shoulders touched, he glanced up as if disconcerted to find her there. Sarah had a fleeting impression of anger and buried confusion before he looked away, his left eye glittering like a polished bit of obsidian.

Belatedly, Sarah remembered what she was supposed to be.

"I could do that," she offered.

The girl Sarah used to be could've never envisioned helping the Goblin King. But then, the girl Sarah was wouldn't have noticed the weary set of his shoulders and gaunt hollows in his face-- she would've seen whatever Jareth had wanted her to see.

The Goblin King's reply was slightly mocking. "I'm not yet so feeble that I cannot do a few simple tasks for myself. Sit."

The words were charming, but there was a brittle edge to the command that did not allow for argument. Disappointed, Sarah sat down and pretended to study the pattern of oak leaves on the rug.

The Goblin King worked quickly, laying out the cold meat and cheese. The two wine bottles gave him pause as he ran his fingers lightly over the faded labels. He hesitated, then set them aside. Wordlessly, he tore off a piece of bread for Sarah, spreading a small feast on a clean napkin in front of her as easily as if he'd done so every day of their lives. They did not speak.

When he had eaten a little, the Goblin King seemed to relax. He accepted the flask of water when Sarah passed it to him and drank deeply.

"Please continue. You look as though you have not eaten in days."

Sarah almost refused, but the smell of the spice cakes were too tempting. Split in two with fresh butter and apple jelly slathered over each half, they were delicious. She ate one, and when Jareth declined his portion, she devoured that, too. The Goblin King did not comment upon the speed with which the remainder of their meal disappeared, but looked bemused.

_Fresh air and exercise, _thought Sarah in embarrassment. Back in her world, she'd been used to sitting at a desk all day. All the unaccustomed work had doubled her appetite, but it was more than that. _Food tastes better here than it ever did at home._

Three apples lay in the bottom of the bag. The Goblin King selected one and pared off the skin, scarlet peel falling away in one unbroken spiral beneath his knife. Spearing a piece on the end of the blade, he held it out to Sarah. The apple was crisp and tart, and as she bit down into each slice, it gave way with an audible snap.

"You favor your right hand," Jareth remarked, nodding at the bandage, "A recent injury?"

Sarah instinctively moved as if to hide it. It had escaped his attention that morning, but here in the tower the Goblin King was sharper, more focused. The coolly impersonal tone in his speech had gone, much to her relief. But even though his concern sounded genuine, Sarah was still reluctant to trust it.

"Let me see it."

Without asking her leave, Jareth took her hand and turned it over, his fingers cool on her wrist. The bandages were gray with dust but otherwise clean, smelling faintly of the mint in the salve. Under the Goblin King's scrutiny, Sarah found herself explaining far more than she intended about the accident with the roasting spit. She did not mention their earlier encounter at breakfast; that seemed like another lifetime ago.

Jareth frowned. "It is slow to heal. You must be careful."

Suddenly afraid he'd dismiss her, Sarah fumbled for an excuse.

"No," said Jareth, "Not yet."

He caught her hand before she could draw it back, squeezing it so hard that Sarah let out a cry of protest. The sound seemed to strike the Goblin King. He blanched white and relaxed his grasp, but did not let go.

"Wait."

Nothing happened for a few long moments. The breeze prickled Sarah's cheek, smelling of clean earth and wet leaves. She became very conscious of everything in the room, all the subtle shadows lingering in the corners, the light angling in through the open window with golden motes of dust dancing upon it. It lit each strand of the Goblin King's fair hair with a pale fire, but all the color had fled from his face as he concentrated on the hand enclosed in his own.

Sarah inhaled sharply as a ribbon of warmth flowed from his touch, spreading to encircle her entire hand and moving up the length of her arm like the first thaw of spring. It seemed like an ripple of pure energy, so bright Sarah felt it crackle to the very roots of her hair... and then it was gone and the room was as it had been before. The late afternoon light was muted, and at the window the morning glories had furled into tight blue buds hidden among the leaves.

Sarah opened and closed her fingers and found the pain was lessened-- not completely healed, but close. Heat had left the wound and the skin no longer raw beneath the protective coating of liniment. What would have taken days happened in a few minutes. She looked up at Jareth in wonder, but his face was waxen and his eyes were dull.

"I... Thank you."

He did not acknowledge her words. The Goblin King's hand dropped away from her own and he flexed it with a faint grimace.

"I need a drink."

Jareth poured out a generous measure of wine; his first swallow was enough to drain half the glass. The bottle rested on the corner of his desk and he brushed the curling edge of the label with his fingertips as gently as a mother might touch a sleeping child. There was a new fragility to him; every movement was too measured, as if calculated to expend as little energy as possible.

It occurred to Sarah that she'd seen little magic or illusions from the Goblin King since her return. Where before it had been effortless, now it was just the opposite, and the only evidence that his power still remained was the silver coin in her pocket. She pressed her bandaged hand against her thigh. The outline of the flat disc was hard against her palm, and she could feel the cool weight of it through the thin fabric of her skirt.

_You shouldn't have done it,_ thought Sarah in remorse. She was beginning to understand, and yet she wished she didn't.

The clock chimed half past six and Jareth stirred at last as if awakening from a dream.

"You should leave now, Mouse. Return to me tomorrow. But for now, just... go."

It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse, but the Goblin King had already turned away, leaning heavily against his desk. He held his gloves balled up in one fist, hands white-knuckled as if only sheer force of will kept him upright.

Some things had not changed. A handful of seconds ticked by, each one slower than the last.

_Whatever she's done to you, I'll find a way to set you free. I promise._

Sarah gathered up her things and left.

* * *

Heat shimmered above the long gravel paths of the garden, but not a single breath of air touched the Goblin Queen's cheek. She made her way to the edge of the pond, the grass beneath her feet so dry that the keen points pricked through her silk slippers. Fish swam among the lilies, occasionally breaking the water's surface with their white and orange-speckled backs. Reganne threw them a crust of bread and watched as the pond roiled with activity. Straightening, she shaded her eyes with one hand. Beyond the castle, clouds gathered on the far horizon-- always too far away.

There were days she felt utterly alien to this land, so unlike the fog-wrapped, rocky peaks of her home. Reganne wondered how it could be so different when it was only just on the other side of the mountains.

White damask roses climbed up the stone wall beside her, gnarled old branches with thorns like claws. Reganne plucked one between thumb and finger, breathing in its musky scent. It, too, seemed almost alien, delicate petals densely ruffled around a yellow heart. She'd never seen one before Jareth brought her here; flowers like this grew only in the sun.

A sound behind her reminded the Goblin Queen she was not alone. Her attendants sat in the shade of an old willow, their lean forms only just visible behind its leafy curtain. Reganne could never remember their names, for one looked much like another, long-limbed women with tawny eyes and hair smoothed back from their sharp faces.

They were trained to hear and obey, but Reganne knew that they watched her even as they served. They'd been her father's creatures first.

Taking care not to betray any unease, she took her place at the center of the group. A cushioned bench protected her skirts from the grass, and nearby a folding table of pearl and mahogany had been set with sweetmeats and savory delicacies. Though she was not hungry, Reganne selected a piece of sugared orange peel. She regretted it almost immediately as its cloying sweetness dissolved on her tongue.

Already, the air grew cooler as the sun sank behind behind the treetops. Nightfall drew near, and soon Jareth would return to her. Would he taste it on her lips over the bitter salt and blood? She dropped the remainder of the orange peel on the grass, wiping the sticky residue from her fingers.

She needed a drink, something to wash the taste from her mouth and the memory from her mind. An attendant stepped forward with a cup, but in her haste, wine slopped over the rim onto the Reganne's gown. The Goblin Queen stared numbly at the ruined silk and the tension that had been slowly building inside her all afternoon broke.

The rose still in her hand, Reganne struck her attendant across the face, dashing the cup from her grasp. The woman yelped and cowered on the grass, blood running down her cheek where a thorn had sliced it open. Licking nervously at the edge of her mouth, a low whine rose from the back of her throat.

Reganne spat in revulsion, dropping the broken flower on the ground.

"Speak, curse you. Remember who you are."

"I... beg pardon, Your Majesty," stuttered the woman at last, "Forgive my clumsiness, it shall not happen again."

Fear made her voice gruff with little breaks between each word, as if speech was a great effort. The other attendants waited, their demeanor changed from indifference to expectant alertness. A dozen pairs of eyes followed the scarlet trickle of blood as it made its way down the woman's cheek and jaw.

Only Reganne turned away to gather up the scattered rose petals. Her hand ached from the blow, but she forced her fingers to curl protectively around them. There was nothing to regret, Reganne told herself. These creatures had scant comprehension of kindness and even less of love. They only understood the language of cruelty. Still she felt heavy and sick, the sweetness of the candied fruit turned sour in her mouth.

At last one of her attendants crept forward, touching the hem of the Reganne's gown as if in supplication.

"It is nearly the full moon, my queen. Will we hunt?"

Reganne did not answer immediately. The odor of damp earth conjured up other images and smells: dew trapped in cobwebs that knit together the treetops, moonlight silvering the branches like frost, rotting leaves soft beneath their feet. The last full moon was more than a fortnight past and seemed only a dim and bloody memory.

_The hunt. It was all they ever thought about, all they ever spoke of. _

So long as she could give it to them, any cruelty of hers would be forgotten. Reganne opened her hand and let the bruised petals fall. She made her voice cool and remote.

"We will hunt. You," she said to the attendant still crouching at her feet, "See to it that our fox is kept fed and watered-- sparingly, but enough to sustain him. I would not have him provide us with poor sport."

A murmur of undisguised excitement ran through the group then, unintelligible except for the sudden gleam in their eyes. Reganne could almost read the thoughts exchanged in those sly looks, but the women only bowed their heads and murmured thanks. Word would spread by nightfall, preparations would be made in the days to come.

The Goblin Queen bestowed a cold look upon her waiting attendant. "I gave you an order. Why are you still here?"

The woman dared raise her eyes briefly then, a flicker of polished topaz behind dark lashes.

"I am hungry."

Again a slight nasal whine crept into the words, but Reganne chose to ignore it. A platter of fowl sat on the table, songbirds doused in brandy and roasted whole. She picked up the dish and tipped them out onto the ground.

Quick as a cat, the woman snatched one in mid-air, crunching the beak and bones between her pointed white teeth before seizing another. She ate as if she'd had no food in days, unmindful of the dirt and grass. The Goblin Queen looked down upon her impassively, all the expression smoothed carefully from her face.

_You and your kind sicken me. But I will never let you see my weakness._

The clock in the great hall chimed six, and Reganne's gaze sought the highest castle tower with its dark window. She folded her hands over her belly. Inside she felt hollow and empty, as if everything had been carved away. Soon a time would come when she would no longer be able to hide how weak she truly was. Reganne fought to control her breathing, keeping it slow and steady so that her attendants would not know she was afraid.

Her father had made certain she knew the price of failure. Reganne was his last hope, but he would not spare her if she did not succeed. She shuddered as she thought of her sister, of the many-layered veils Danae wore and the silk gloves that covered her from elbow to fingertip. There were worse things than death.

She could not let her father do the same to her; Reganne could not face such a fate. There was one thing that might yet save her, one way left open.

"Jareth."

She spoke his name so softly that her attendants did not hear. It was little more than an exhalation of air, the word leaving her lips like a promise. Once more, her eyes were fixed upon the high tower, face white and still.

_Give me a child tonight,_ she pleaded silently. _Something of yours that will be mine forever, a child who can protect its mother._

* * *

Long after the girl left, he sat by the window and watched the dying of the light. In his hand was the bracelet she'd held, its sinuous shape curving beneath his fingers and jeweled eyes seeming almost alive. It should have been hidden away in his treasury under lock and key. The Goblin King had not meant to leave it out for anyone to find.

Barbaric in design, the band was ancient, even older than himself. No such gold was mined in the hills now and the secrets to such delicate metalwork had been lost. Didymus, who made a study of such things, had only vague ideas of its origin. Goblin-made it was, back in the times when all goblin races were one, a fierce and clever breed. They'd fashioned it for their queen, just as the pendant with its intertwining sigil was for their king. Unlike the pendant--now in Didymus' safekeeping-- no one in living memory had ever worn it.

Jareth had intended it for his wife, waiting for a time when it seemed right that Reganne should have it. It could never be hers now. The relic felt changed, altered by its contact. He tried to reason with himself.

_All the girl did was hold it in her hand, it is the same as it ever was._

The Goblin King shook his head. She'd done more than hold it-- he'd seen the glimmer of gold upon her slender wrist. It should have looked an absurd mockery, with her grubby tunic and the strands of cobwebs tangled in her hair. It had not.

Expression creased in a troubled frown, Jareth wrapped up the gold band in a scrap of wool and put it away in his desk drawer along with the other things he did not care to explain to anyone, much less himself.

The wind blew through the ivy like a sigh and the Goblin King shivered. He pulled on his gloves, fingers stiff and clumsy. It was foolish, wasting what little energy he had left on a servant girl.

_There is nothing special about this one,_ he argued with himself. _There's no reason I should see her tomorrow, or the day after that._

The girl's presence did not feel like an intrusion, yet the Goblin King had been all too aware of it. Every emotion was written plainly on her face, and he'd watched her all afternoon without seeming to. The injury on her hand troubled her. Jareth could see it each time the girl forgot and reached too high or picked up a book that was too heavy for her to lift. He'd tried to ignore it, but it troubled him, too.

The desk drawer stood open and the owl's feather lay at the bottom, wound about with the silver-white ribbon. The Goblin King touched it hesitantly, remembering.

Long ago, it seemed that he'd watched and waited outside a window while a young girl cried out in her sleep, pain burrowing deep into his breast because he could not bear--

_This is nonsense._

Jareth shook the idle thought from his mind in frustration, abruptly shutting the drawer and locking it with a click. He stood holding the key, thinking to bury it beneath the papers on his desk. Instead, he turned to the window ledge. Hidden by overgrown ivy, a crumbling bit of mortar between two stones left a small gap, one so narrow it was barely the finger's breadth wide. There Jareth secreted the key, carefully arranging the leaves to conceal it once more.

The hand that had held the girl's gave a nagging throb, and the Goblin King clenched it into a fist.

"She means nothing to me."

The words were dissipated by the wind. Jareth was too tired to face the thought of descending from the tower, even though he knew he must. Outside his window, the shadows lengthened and the sky was streaked gold and crimson, growing darker.

Night was coming.

* * *

Casting one last look over his shoulder, Hoggle ducked through a gap in the privet hedge and made his way along a well-worn path through the strawberry patch until he reached the line of honeysuckle bushes beyond. The chimney of his cottage was just visible above them, and Hoggle breathed a sigh of relief. Sunset was a good hour behind him and the stars were coming out one by one, but he didn't stop to admire them as he might have done once.

Cian had loaned him a lantern, a cunning creation little bigger than his hand. Copper wire curved gracefully around a globe of frosted glass, and within it fluttered several creatures with lace-like wings. Too big to be fireflies, they drifted lazily from side to side, giving off a pale green light.

Hoggle shook the lantern. "Look alive in there," he snapped, "Or I'll fall on my face and drop you, and then where would you be?"

_Out after dark two nights running,_ thought the dwarf. _I must be tired of living._

But nothing followed him through the woods, though every rustle spooked him and he flinched every time he stepped on a twig. The birch grove stood empty, but he tiptoed through it just the same only to be brought up short when the trees gave way to the little clearing of his front garden.

The door of his cottage was open just a crack. Hoggle stopped, one hand on the gate. He lowered the lantern.

_I closed and latched it this morning. I know I did._

Through the open window he could see a shadowy figure hunched before the fireplace, too large to be Sir Didymus or a goblin neighbor come to call. Stepping softly, he seized a stout stick of oak off the wood pile even though he could scarce feel to hold it.

"Back again, are you?" he muttered angrily, "Not content to wait until moon rise tonight, you bastards."

Instinct told Hoggle he ought to run back to the relative safety of the castle and forget about doing any deeds of bravery that would only get him killed. His guts tied themselves up in knots until he felt like he had a belly full of swamp snakes.

Hoggle steeled himself. _Didymus wouldn't run. That boastful furbag would stand and fight even if it meant facing the whole outlander army. I can do no less, or I'll be of no help to him at all. And damn me, this is my __home._

With as fierce a roar as he could muster, Hoggle burst through the door, lantern held high and cudgel at the ready. The figure inside gave a startled shriek, rising up from the hearth. Its garments billowed, it reached out a slender, wraith-like hand. Hoggle's courage nearly gave out in that instant, and he prepared to hurl everything he carried at the creature's head and take to his heels when it stepped forward into the circle of light.

"Hoggle?"

The dwarf dropped the cudgel and sagged back against the doorway. He clutched at his chest and was surprised to find his heart still pounding like a blacksmith's hammer against an anvil.

"Sarah! Thank the gods... But how? You shouldn't be here, not at a time like this."

Sarah shed the worn woolen cloak around her shoulders and threw herself on the dwarf in a fierce hug.

"I was afraid someone would see if I lit a fire," she explained hurriedly, "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Me, scared?" Hoggle snorted. "Not for a minute. I was just surprised to see you, that's all. Didn't expect you'd turn up again, not after all this time."

The last was a mild rebuke delivered with a reproving sniff, and Sarah hid a smile. This was something else that hadn't changed.

"It wasn't entirely by my choice, Hoggle. But that's a long story, and I don't think we have time for it now."

The dwarf darted a look behind him and hurriedly agreed. Fresh water had been drawn from the well before he'd left that morning, so he put on the kettle, making sure to first shutter the windows and bar the door. For good measure, he and Sarah pulled the heavy kitchen table across the doorway, wedging it firmly in place.

As the kettle boiled, they drew their chairs closer to the fire and used a low footstool as their table. The meal was simple, scavenged from what was left in the pantry: bread, butter, a bowl of radishes and thick slices of cured sausage. Hoggle held his mug of tea in both hands, warming his face in the steam.

It was no wonder he'd barely recognized Sarah, he thought. In the dark, swaddled in a cloak two sizes too large, she'd looked like... well, something else entirely, no need to imagine what. Even when he'd seen her face, Hoggle had wrestled with the fleeting impression that he was looking at someone he didn't even know.

But by the light of the roaring fire, he was relieved to see the friend he remembered. Taller, perhaps, but that was of no account-- above a certain height, it was all the same to him. The coltish look of the young girl was gone, though Hoggle saw the same stubborn determination in her.

Sitting with a slice of bread balanced on one knee, she looked as if coming to call upon him was something she did every day. It did occur to Hoggle that her clothing was little better than what the lowliest scullery maid in the kitchens wore, but it didn't seem to matter. Her appearance was no longer her first concern. This Sarah chose her words more carefully, chewing her lower lip as she thought. The dwarf shook his head with admiration and a just a little regret. The girl had grown up.

He ate his own bread and butter and several radishes, thinking over what she'd told him.

"You say he was to meet you tonight?"

Sarah nodded. "Didymus said that as soon as I could manage it, he would take me to you. But I couldn't get away until late, and he never came. No one has seen him at all."

Hoggle could confirm that much, at least. All of his inquiries had amounted to very little, only brief sightings of the little knight no more recent than the morning before.

"I don't like it," he admitted, "It's one thing not to show up here, but if he told you for certain..."

The dwarf didn't have to finish. They both knew that only the direst need would cause Sir Didymus to break his word to a lady. Hoggle bit fiercely into a hunk of sausage, the taste of garlic and smoke filling his mouth.

"What will we do, Hoggle?"

Sarah's cup of tea was sitting on the hearth forgotten as she clutched the mantle around herself with both hands. Hoggle noticed the hastily wrapped bandage, the scrapes on her knuckles and the ragged edges of her fingernails where she'd bitten them. Her anxious expression, those dark eyes... Sarah needed him. The dwarf nodded solemnly.

"Whatever we do, it'll have to wait until until sunrise. You go on and take the bed, I'll bunk down in front of the fire."

Seeing Sarah's unhappy look, he have a helpless shrug. "There's nothing for it, we don't dare venture out now. Didymus would tell you as much if he were here, and he'd have a fit if I let you wander out after dark."

"Cian told me as much, but she wouldn't say why. No one will, just like no one will tell me anything about this Goblin Queen."

Hoggle didn't answer. He took a big gulp of hot tea, not minding how it nearly scalded his tongue. Sarah's chin was thrust out in a obstinate manner that was very familiar to him.

"This place is full of secrets. I didn't expect them from you, too."

The dwarf rose with a sigh and cleared away the half-eaten food before returning to sit by the hearth. The flames cast a warm golden glow over the little room, and for a while he could almost forget about the shadows.

"It's not exactly a secret," he said, "But there's some things you don't _want_ to talk about. Talking about it only makes it more real."

Sarah waited for him to continue. He sighed, and the words came out in an awkward tumble. Didymus was a good friend, but the knight had a poor grasp on the concept of fear and it was a relief to tell someone else.

"I won't speak her name. Not wise to, after the sun goes down, and sensible folk don't say it during the day if it can be helped. It was all right at first, with just her and Jareth in the castle-- though if you'd asked me before, I'd have said that one would never change. Not him, not the way he's done. She's gone and witched him as sure as the sun rises."

Sarah was silent at this. She stared down at her clasped hands, so still she seemed frozen in place.

_That's gone and done it,_ Hoggle thought guiltily. Didymus would chew his ear off about blurting it out like that if he were here, but it couldn't be helped. The truth was the truth, and the girl had to be told.

The dwarf coughed and continued. "Then she brought the court with her and... Let's just say you don't see many goblins about these days and everyone knows not to go out after dark, especially not on a night with a full moon."

Hoggle's cup didn't need refilling, but Sarah did it anyway and he was glad. The hot tea with honey soothed his throat and the solid weight of the tin cup in his hand was reassuring. As he told Sarah of his own suspicions, Hoggle hefted it from time to time, just to remind himself that there were still good, uncomplicated things like hot drinks and full larders and hanging out the wash on Tuesdays.

"People disappear," he finished quietly, "They never find anything... after. I wish it was only a rumor, but I've seen things myself that make my blood run colder than snowmelt. Nothing's ever been the same since she got here-- that she-demon who calls herself queen."

He thought back to the night before, the dozens of yellow eyes peering out from the bushes in his front yard, the heavy tread of paws on the doorstep. The dwarf shuddered.

_Wolves,_ he thought. _And worse yet, wolves that run on two legs by day._

"I believe you, Hoggle," said Sarah, patting his shoulder, "I've seen her and there's something not--."

The dwarf's attention snapped back. "Seen her? Damn me, I don't know how that happened, but promise me you won't cross her path again, Sarah. She might not know your name, but she knows who you are and what you mean to him. If she knew you were here..."

Sarah promised her friend she would stay out of sight. She told him everything then, all about her trip back through the looking-glass and meeting Cian. She told him about seeing the Goblin King, and of Ana's spell to keep her hidden. Hoggle listened intently, chin resting on one gnarled fist.

"I don't trust that woman."

"She's protected me when she didn't have to." Sarah countered, "So has Cian. Not everyone at court is evil, Hoggle."

Hoggle was hardly mollified. "The housekeeper's no great friend of the queen's, maybe, but that doesn't mean she's yours. I have a feeling that one has her own plan and I'm not sure I want to find out what it is. Never you mind, I'll keep an eye on her-- and Didymus too, when we find him. Tomorrow."

Extra blankets were excavated from the trunk in the attic loft and Hoggle made up the bed in the far corner by the chimney. It was little more than a cupboard built into the wall, but several fat feather pillows and a thick quilt in warm reds and browns made it cozy. The dwarf tucked a hot brick wrapped in flannel at the foot of the bed, anxiously straightening and re-straightening the covers. When Sarah climbed in, she realized how stiff and sore she was from the day's work and how badly she needed to sleep.

"If," began Sarah, then corrected herself, "_When_ we find Sir Didymus, I'll ask him about Jareth. If he's under some sort of spell, then there must be a way to break it."

Rolled up in a blanket by the fire, Hoggle grunted. "I'd let Jareth worry about himself if I were you, but no doubt Didymus will see things your way. He always did have a soft spot in his head for that tyrant. Now go to sleep, Sarah. If Didymus needs us, we'll be there-- and if I have to, I'll even save that bullying brute of a king."

Sarah curled up beneath the quilt, which was just a little too short to cover her fully. The sheets smelled like the dried lavender sachets in the trunk, soft against her skin as if they'd been washed many times over. Hoggle had banked the fire so that it burned low and steady, and the light flickered across the rough wooden ceiling beams and the whitewashed walls.

Under the cover of semi-darkness, Sarah unwrapped the bandage from her hand and traced her fingertips over the burn. The scar had puckered into a smooth ridge, flesh still tender but nowhere near as painful. She closed it in a fist, remembering the ashen color of Jareth's skin and what it had cost him. Shutting her eyes, Sarah tried to recall the feeling of his hands on her own, his grasp encircling her wrist.

"What if he really does love her? We can't save him if he doesn't want to be free."

Hoggle's voice was slightly muffled. "He _thinks_ he loves her. That's not the same thing at all."

The two friends fell silent then, and the only sound in the cottage was the fire and the creak of the shutters in the wind. A log burned in two and settled with a crack, and the dwarf let out a startled curse that revealed he was not yet asleep.

"I hate her, Hoggle," Sarah said at last, "And I don't even know her. I just... hate her for what she's done to this place."

"That's a powerful word, one that should never be used lightly."

Hoggle thought of the claw marks scarring his door and the bloody entrails he'd buried in the farthest corner of the yard. He could not find it in his heart to tell Sarah of that, not yet.

"I hate her, too."

* * *

Beneath the scent of roasted figs and honey, the kitchen reeked of slaughter. Supper was nearly done and the last platters of fruit-filled pastries and sugared trifles were on their way to the great hall. Tired scullery maids and pot boys knuckled their aching backs, then began on the mountain of pans and dishes. Unmoved, Ana let the activity swirl and eddy around her.

The butcher's block was waist high with deep grooves cut into the surface to drain away the blood. This corner of the kitchen smelled like mildewed hay and offal. Slabs of rich, ivory-colored fat were stacked neatly to one side, waiting to be rendered. A calf's head hung from the iron hook, red-streaked tongue lolling and an opaque film clouding its eyes.

Spread before the housekeeper were marbled hunks of meat and disarticulated limbs, bowls of entrails still warm in their juices. Her long knife had been sharpened so many times the blade's edge was paper-thin, but it still sliced through each muscle and joint as if it were made of butter. Smeared with crimson up to the elbows, Ana bent to her task. This was work she allowed no one but herself to do.

Cian sat just inside the doorway, a bowl of walnuts in her lap. She kept her gaze carefully averted from the butcher's block, nimble fingers sorting out the nutmeats from the broken shells.

"They're demons," she said quietly, even though there was little chance the kitchen staff would hear her above the noise. "A whole herd of cattle wouldn't satisfy their hunger."

The housekeeper shrugged with a detachment she did not feel. "Even animals must eat."

"Don't pretend it doesn't disgust you. Not to me."

Ana was not accustomed to apologizing, so she did not. The door creaked on its hinges as a fresh gust of cool air blew into the kitchen. Cian tilted her face to catch it, breathing in deeply. Some of the color returned to her pale cheeks.

The older woman watched her and chose her next words with care.

"This isn't your home," she said, scraping the blade over a bit of gristle, "I know what you've sacrificed, and no one could have done more. There is nothing to keep you here now if you wished to be free."

"I made a promise... Long ago."

"Promises can be broken."

The girl sucked her finger where a sharp shell edge had bruised it, and the green of her eyes was that of a new-sprung leaf. "Not by one whose heart is true."

Ana brought the blade down onto the butcher's block with a vicious thwack. "Don't you _dare_ go quoting the knight and his damnable courtly ideals to me," she said tightly, "My gratitude does not extend to being lectured by him... or you."

Like her mistress, Cian did not apologize. She hunched her thin shoulders over the bowl, cracking walnuts with such ferocity that they were ground to unusable bits and pieces. When the task was done, she left her seat to stand in the doorway, hands braced on either side of it.

Prickly thorn-apple grew by the step, their white trumpet-shaped blooms luminous white. It was not quite moon rise. The girl's hair had escaped from its leather thong and hung in wispy curls around her face as she rocked back and forth on her heels, balancing on the threshold. She glanced back at her mistress.

"We could help him. It's not too late."

"You know why I cannot interfere. Other lives depend upon it, not just yours and mine. That is the price to be paid."

_Sanctuary._ Neither of them spoke the word aloud, but it was never far from their minds. This small plot of land, this haven... it was all they'd had for many a year and it was little enough. One misstep could bring it to an end, and this was what Ana feared above all else.

The housekeeper pressed her lips together hard, but kept her eyes upon the cutting block. "I am too old to fight. There is only one battle left to me."

Out in the courtyard, fireflies hovered beneath the trees, settling upon the tall grass like a scattering of gold dust. Cian held out her hand and a few circled her fingertips in gentle exploration before drifting away. She leaned her head wearily against the door jamb, watching their cool lights flicker against the backdrop of shadows.

Ana wondered if the girl was thinking about everything she'd given up. If she was, Cian did not say. Instead, she spoke so low it was barely audible.

"She cannot be saved."

The housekeeper's blade hesitated, just for a moment. She thought of a laughing child with fine locks of dark hair coming loose from her braid. She thought of the same girl, chasing fireflies through the garden with the gravel crunching beneath her bare feet, her small hands opening and closing on empty air.

"I cannot believe that."

The reply was softer yet, so hushed that Ana might have mistaken it for the wind.

"That is because you don't want to believe."

_Crack._ The knife went right through a leg-bone, shearing it neatly in two and spilling out the rich marrow. Ana stared numbly at the broken pieces, glistening white and red. By the time she looked up to the doorway, Cian was already gone.

Work forgotten, Ana stepped out into the empty courtyard. There was just enough light from the doorway to see a track of footprints in the silvery dew, disappearing into the trees. The older woman did not follow.

A noisy thrash of wings caught her attention. On top of an old post next to the blackberry patch sat a large raven, feathers ruffled against the wind. It clacked its beak twice, cocking its head to one side to look her over. Ana moved slowly, so as not to frighten it.

"I'm afraid I do not speak your language, swift one." she said gravely.

The raven preened its sleek wing, croaking softly to itself. After a while, it looked up again and then let out a rusty caw that sounded almost like the hoarse, high-pitched bark of a fox.

Ana went very still.

"You are too late," she said, "He is not here."

From the pocket of her stained and bespattered apron, she withdrew a handful of parched corn and scattered it upon the grass. The raven pecked at it briefly but again took wing, soon vanishing among the treetops.

The stone trough next to the door was full, and a cake of strong lye soap sat on the rim of it. Plunging into the cold water, Ana scrubbed until the fumes stung her nose and eyes and the backs of her hands were a scaly pink. Stripping off her apron, she rinsed it again and again until the water ran clear, then wrung it dry and then retied it around her waist. The cloth clung damply to her skirts, but she did not feel it.

"I tried to warn you," she said aloud, "It is you who would not listen."

But even to her own ears, her voice sounded much like the raven's, rough as sandpaper. Ana covered her face with her still-wet hands. It was a mistake. Rainwater upon rock, the earthy, cold scent conjured up memories she would have liked to forget. His last words rang in her ears like the haunting echo of a funeral bell.

_You cannot save them all._

His eyes were grey as river-stones, and chill. His laughter mocked her even as she ran.

Ana dropped her hands. _You are wrong. My will is great..._

Blood clotted upon the cobblestones. She dashed the remainder of her washing water over it but some still remained, dark flecks of viscous matter slippery between the rocks.

_Thicker than water,_ she thought with a wrench of anguish. _I am a fool to have forgotten._

* * *

_Comments/reviews welcome. _

**Author's Notes:** _Many thanks go to **Whiteraven** and **Thessaly** for taking the time to edit the opening scene for me. When I'm frustrated and don't know how to fix the mess I've made, your helpful advice gets me back on track.  
_


	11. A Candle in the Dark

**Recap: **_While shelving books in the king's tower, Sarah discovers something Jareth didn't mean for her to find. Later in Hoggle's cottage, the dwarf tells her more about the Goblin King's enchantment and why the creatures of the Labyrinth are disappearing one by one. Ana and Cian have a cryptic conversation about kept promises and lost causes, and the housekeeper realizes she hasn't left behind all the ghosts that haunt her. The whereabouts of Sir Didymus is a mystery, and the Goblin Queen's attendants are not what they seem. On the next full moon there will be a hunt, and every pack of hounds needs a fox... _

**Author's Note: **_This story rating has now been upgraded from **T** to **M**. If you are easily offended by mature subject matter, please be advised that this and future chapters may contain scenes of an explicit nature. _

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: A Candle in the Dark**

Shadows stole over the queen's garden as night fell, turning the waters of the lily-pond to a black mirror. The quiet heat of the day had gone, and now the wind sent dust and leaves swirling along the path with a sound like the rustling pages of a book. Beneath the willow tree where it was darkest, only the fragrance of roses still hung in the air as heavily as it had in the bright afternoon.

The Goblin Queen loosened her hair from its plait, combing through it with her fingers and letting the long waves spill into her lap. Every chandelier in the great hall was illuminated and light shone from arched doorways. From beneath the willow's sheltering branches, Reganne could see dancers gliding past, graceful figures floating on the music's rise and fall. She could not bear to be a part of it, but neither could she leave.

A single attendant stood watch, crouched easily on the balls of her feet with her skirts trailing in the dirt. She cocked her ear toward the sound of courtiers' laughter, but never took her eyes from her charge. In the fading light, they had a gleam of their own like polished amber, deep-set above angular cheekbones and a pointed chin. Her ladies looked least human after dark. Reganne suppressed a shiver, but Jareth's queen schooled her expression and kept her tone imperious.

"Leave me. It is late, and I wish to be alone."

She needed no clock to tell her midnight was near; the very air changed as the minutes passed. Behind her, the queen could feel the shadows deepen, but she did not turn to look.

The woman did not move. Her deference to her mistress was that of caution and measured respect. "It is unwise, my queen. One of us should watch over you always."

"Who here could harm me?" The Goblin Queen did not need to feign her impatience as she produced a small dagger with a flick of her wrist. "Who would dare?"

When the woman shifted her weight from one haunch to the other, Reganne knew it for a concession. She concentrated harder, one hand tangled in the grass among the willow roots as if to anchor herself there.

_A small enough gift,_ thought the Goblin Queen, _But it is mine._

So far away on the horizon that it was barely a flicker came the white shimmer of heat lightning. Ears less sharp than her own would not have caught the faint murmur of thunder that followed. All around them, the willow fronds stirred gently; the wind had changed direction. Drifting toward them came the scent of roasted meat from the banquet tables. From her attendant came a startled whine, her entire body tensed rapt in attention.

The Goblin Queen allowed herself a tiny smile when she knew the woman would not see.

"Go. I shall not require any of you until morning."

With a nod, the attendant bowed low to her mistress and departed, lithe form melting away into the darkness. When the woman was gone, the Goblin Queen let the hand with the dagger drop, smoothing her fingers absently over the hilt. The musicians in the great hall were playing a lilting melody, one of the goblin folk tunes Jareth favored.

It was an ugly song, full of strange dissonances in a minor key that belied its sprightly tempo. She found herself swaying to its rhythm nonetheless, thinking of the ballroom with its white marble and crystal domed ceiling. Jareth avoided it whenever he could, making only the briefest of appearances at feasts before slipping away. Her company repelled him now-- most of all in the hours before midnight. He did not care for dancing.

The Goblin Queen swallowed a surge of fierce longing. She could compel him to attend her, to hold her in his arms as they whirled and spun to the music. Jareth had given her the power to command this and more; he could not refuse her.

_Don't defy me..._

He could not, but he would try, and the knowledge of that unmade her. Bitterness flooded her mouth once more, so strong that the vision vanished before it was fully formed: fantasy and frail illusions that lent cold comfort to the dreamer. There were nights Reganne would sell her soul for even a taste of such a sweet lie.

A sharp slice of pain brought her back; the edge of the blade was pressed tightly against her palm, leaving a thin, scarlet line. Reganne made a fist and the bone hilt grew slippery-warm in her hands.

In the great hall, the music had changed. The dancers moved more slowly now, arms intertwined and silhouettes drawn so closely together you could not tell where one partner ended and the other began. Rising from her throne among the willow roots, Reganne took her bearings to the east. It was nearly midnight and Jareth would be locked away in his rooms, as far from the noise and revelry as possible.

For this, she need not compel him; such was the nature of the spell sealed with a king's promise. Jareth would come to her. There would be no music for them, no canopy of stars-- only four walls and a bed of stone, a single lantern to light their bower.

The Goblin Queen slid the dagger into her bodice, shivering at the kiss of cold metal between her breasts. Despite her heavy heart, her blood kindled with anticipation.

* * *

The fire had gone out, leaving the tower a chilled, remote aerie lit only by a few candles. Jareth stared dully at what remained of the wine: sour dregs at the bottom of his cup. He tipped the liquid out among the dead embers. All that he'd drunk burned in the back of his throat. The Goblin King stretched a bare hand over the hearth, thinking that he could feel the ghost of its warmth.

_And so it ends,_ he thought unsteadily. _All that we were and could have been, mingled with spent ashes and never to rise._

Jareth let the cup fall, spattering droplets of wine on the papers still piled on the floor. The spots on the parchment were the color of ripe plums, and he felt a sting of remorse. The girl had worked all afternoon and she had admired the drawings and maps so. She might be grieved to see the mess... The Goblin King dragged a weary hand across his eyes. What did it matter, and why think of her now? He must stop.

"It won't do," he said to himself, a mocking admonishment. "Thinking of her. Who is she to you?"

_No one, no one,_ the wind whispered outside. _She is no one but a kitchen mouse, and nothing to you, Labyrinth-lord, keeper of worlds._

Jareth laughed unpleasantly. "Then forget about the girl."

But he did not resist the rush of recollection that overtook him, each one fixed in his memory. They were all of her: the girl curled in his chair by the fire, skirt tucked up over one bare foot. Strands of her dark hair falling across the nape of her neck as she balanced a heavy book in her lap. Her slender fingers stained with ink, the rapid fluttering of her pulse under the pressure of his hand. The scent of the outdoors and growing things rising off her skin like spring...

If Jareth had still been holding the goblet, he would've thrown it across the room. _It won't do._

The Goblin King stumbled to the window, letting the night air cool his heated skin. In the other room, his bed beckoned with its soft coverlets and pillows. Part of him longed to stay and let his tired body sink into the feather mattress like a stone until sleep overtook him. Let the light of the waxing moon weave him a net of dreams weightless and sweet, devoid of darkness and longing.

Instead he stepped up onto the window ledge, bracing his hands against either side for balance. The night sky was alight with stars, unforgiving in their brilliance. The Goblin King could see nothing of what lay below, but he did not have to. A fall from the tower meant death.

Much of the magic had left him, something he dared not admit even to himself. What had always been within reach and bound to his command was now all too distant. Wielding the power now was like trying to catch a single leaf blown on the wind of a hurricane, a killing effort with little reward. But what remained the Goblin King drew upon now, closing his eyes and casting himself off the ledge with arms outstretched.

The change was a brief moment of agony as his bones knit and reformed, altering their shape as he fell. Cold air swept past him in a dizzying roar and Jareth knew a terror-filled moment of forgetting; this could be the night it ended, the night he did not change and could do nothing to prevent his body breaking to pieces on the hard earth hurtling up toward him. But muscle memory knew the shifting of shapes and it did so without his guidance; the wind held his wings aloft and bore him away and over the trees as effortlessly as a mote of dust.

Tonight he would live.

The white owl opened his beak in a soundless screech of triumph. In this form, it knew no cold nor pain, only a reckless hunger to fly as fast and as far as it could. To the south and west lay the Wasteland, barren stretches of rock and shifting sands that rose up to swallow the unwary traveler. Beyond that lay the mountains wrapped in mist and rain, and beyond the mountains was an enemy it would tear with beak and talons until his breast ran red with blood.

The white owl beat its wings with an energy fueled by rage and a knowledge that dawned upon it with aching clarity. It wheeled sharply over the glimmer of water far below in the pear orchard, and its hissing call sounded like a battle cry:

_To war, to war. Storm King, I will devour your heart._

* * *

Another bent and useless lock pick dropped from his grasp, and Sir Didymus massaged his cramping paw with a sigh. He was out of practice. His prison cell was old, and the damp air had rusted the iron bars and stiffened the tumblers inside the lock. Without the steady work of puzzling out the mechanism to distract him, all sorts of doubts and dire possibilities flooded Didymus' mind. It could be that the rust had fused it entirely, that it would take a stronger hand and a surer will than he possessed--

_No, _he vowed._ I will not lose heart, not if a thousand locks barred my path._

Though his sight had adjusted to the faint light given off by the lichen clinging to the walls, the knight could not tell how many hours had passed since he'd woken. He knew he was hungry, but Sir Didymus had always been blessed with a good appetite, even in times of tribulation. He rummaged around in the bag Sarah had packed for him, taking stock of his meager food supplies more out of habit than need. There wasn't much left.

The apple smelled of summer, crisp and honey-sweet when he bit into it. Didymus tried to make it last as long as he could, nibbling it down to the stem and core. Crawling to the back of the cave where a steady drip of water collected upon the rock, he lapped up enough to satisfy his thirst.

Two hard-boiled eggs remained in the bag, and already his belly growled, wishing it had more than a single apple to fill it. Didymus returned to his post at the cell door, favoring his injured shoulder. He forced himself to rest, to close his one eye and drift for a few precious minutes.

_The impenetrable dark, and a single globe of light bobbing up and down like a will o' wisp over hill and bog, through deep woods and sawgrass meadows until greenery gave way to rock and coarse sand underfoot. His king had been gone many days, and no Labyrinth creature could report even the briefest glimpse of him-- no white wings on the horizon, no black shadows against the face of the moon. _

_It had long been Jareth's habit to disappear at will for days upon end and return without a single word as to where he had been. Didymus had his suspicions, though even he dared not speak them aloud. He'd been reminded all too keenly that it was not a knight's place to question his lord._

_But now there was none to gainsay him if he chose to search for he knew not what, the lantern's bright eye piercing the rain and gloom as he held it aloft. Rumors and whisperings had reached his ears of a cold land beyond the mountains, a forest where daylight never shone, and a dark tower..._

_He would never give up. He was a king's man, till his dying day._

Didymus swam up out of his unconscious daze with a groan and he wondered how long he had slept-- or if he had slept at all. Down here in the dungeons, dreams and waking seemed much the same, and he did not like it. Too long asleep, and the knight feared that whatever had cast its spell over his king would take him further away than he could return.

He ate one of the two boiled eggs, shell and all, sprinkling on a few grains of salt with each bite. With the food, he did not feel the cold so keenly. To still the complaints of his stomach, he lapped up more water that tasted of chalk and stone, drinking all that he could bear until his belt felt tight once more. It was not enough, but it would serve.

The little knight tested his injured shoulder warily, moving his arm this way and that. No bones ground together in the socket, no sharp tearing pain. It was not broken, of this he could be grateful. He'd seen and tended far worse on the battlefield in his day, and a hot poultice would set it right once he was free.

What he would not give now to have it, the key that opened all doors, thought Didymus ruefully. Perhaps he had not been wise to let it go so soon, not when the use of it could have aided him greatly. But if the queen's creatures had discovered it upon him...

The knight growled, even though there was no one to hear. No, better that the talisman was safe and out of their reach. Better that Sarah did not know what she held, though the time might come when she would have to wield it.

At this, Didymus smiled in spite of himself. Well he remembered the fresh calluses on her palm and the determined set of her chin when Sarah had made her promise. Who better to wield it if Jareth did not? His brave lady would see them all through, of that he had no doubt; he had only to do his part and all would be well.

Flexing his fingers, Didymus took out his last lockpick, threaded his good arm through the bars and began again.

* * *

They were just out of reach: sleep and oblivion, slipping away like the tides rolling back to the heart of the sea. When Jareth closed his eyes, he was in another place. There, sunlight dappled the grass and a dark-haired girl waited for him beneath the trees. Pale green ribbons fluttered from the handle of her willow basket. In her cupped hands she held out a single pear, its skin glowing like burnished copper. Her eyes were the color of moss after the rain.  
_  
Goblin King, I've brought you a gift._

Jareth jerked awake to the rattle of his own chains, each detail of his prison falling into place like a handful of pebbles dropped from high: stone like winter, deadening the bruised meat of his back. The flickering light of the lantern as the oil smoked and burned low. Underneath, the smell of rotting earth and the soot of old fires. On himself, sweat and fear ground into his skin like filth from the dungeon floor.

Here there would be no rest, only moments when exhaustion claimed him all too briefly. But in those few stolen moments, Jareth dreamed of his fall. He dreamed...  
_  
War and combat, bloodlust and rage. The air was sharp as the edge of a blade and he welcomed it, his scream of elation lost in the wind and the beat of his wings. He knew where he was. He knew who he was. The treetops dropped away as he mounted higher, the leafy canopy a blur of black and green. Lost in the cover of sheltering branches was a pond, and by that pond was a tree, and under the tree was a sleeping king and a girl watching over him..._

No. That was another dream.

_This dream was of the battle to come, and the owl's keen eyes could already see columns of smoke to the west, the glint of sword-metal, the rain of black arrows trailing tails of red fire. Somewhere in the marches, ravens gathered in clouds so thick they darkened the face of the sun. There he would join them. He could already taste the blood of the king-over-the-mountains, a wine-red fountain flowing from his enemy's heart._

In his sleep, Jareth shivered. The chains bit into his wrists, freezing and burning until he could no longer feel. This dream reminded him too much of the other-- the one he'd given up so much to forget, yet would not be forgotten.  
_  
Pain like broken glass buried so deep in his breast that no amount of digging would ease it, though he tore and tore at his own flesh as he flew. Thin and hot, the blood-trickle that seeped from him drop by drop, staining the white feathers with gore. This hurt would kill him, but even in that there was comfort. The link had been broken. In time, the two worlds would drift further apart and then..._

_His voice was a ruin, or he would have cried out in triumph and despair. The mirror was shattered, and Sarah would haunt him no more. He'd lost her. He was free._

Jareth drew in as tightly as his bonds would allow, burying his face the crook of his elbow to muffle the sounds that forced themselves from his throat._Not here, do not think of that here. _

They were memories he'd sold in return for peace, a covenant sealed in his own blood. Regret would change nothing, except to endanger that which he would keep safe above all else.

_Do not say her name, do not..._

The Goblin King forced himself to slow his panicked breathing. His tongue felt swollen and thick, clinging to the roof of his mouth.

"Water," he said, the dry rasp startling in the silence, "Please."_  
_  
He would not betray her. He would keep the thought of her hidden away, like a man warming himself over the heat of a single glowing ember.

_She was the first drop of rain in a long-awaited summer storm. Sarah sleeping with the moonlight falling across her bed. Sarah's dark hair spread across her pillow, cheek flushed as she tossed and turned beneath the covers. Sarah murmuring as she dreamed, calling out a single word like a spell of summoning._

_Across the room, the mirror above her vanity gleams without reflection and jagged lightning flashes across the surface. The room fills with the scent of wet leaves and cedar, a promise of rain. Mist rises from the glass, ghosts from another world._

_Far away, a great white bird takes flight._

But that, too, was another dream for another night.

_In this one, he was whole, feathers like new-fallen snow over the tender scar on his breast. In this dream, the air was cool and clean beneath his outspread wings, and he was free._

_The clock struck midnight._

_Before he could cry out, he was falling. The wind whipped past as wings changed back to leaden bones and limbs too heavy to fly. Branches cut his face and hands, and he longed for this curse to kill him once and for all-- but it would not be so. One such as him could not easily die even if he wished it, and the Goblin King knew all about wishes..._

_  
Somewhere below hidden in the darkness of her garden, his wife was singing softly, and each note became a bar of his golden cage.  
_  
A wooden cup was set against his lips, spilling cold water into his open mouth and down his chin. Jareth choked and swallowed, then choked some more. The chains dragged against rock as he clung weakly to the hands that held the cup, tilting it until the last drop of water was gone, and with it, his dream.

He lay back. The lamplight burned green-gold at the edges of his vision. Someone wiped the moisture from his face and neck with a soft cloth smelling of musty wool and jasmine. Jareth tried to turn away.

His wife's eyes were upon him, cool and distant as two stars.

"It doesn't have to be this way, Jareth."

A hand insinuated itself beneath the thin linen shirt he wore, and Jareth flinched away. As if in response, the chains seized him unbearably tight, then slackened bit by bit as he forced himself to remain still. His wife stroked his side the way someone might pet a cat, and the Goblin King trembled with each pass even as it coaxed away the cold that had settled deep into his bones.

Her caresses were poison seeping into every pore and particle of his body, a thick, bittersweet syrup that burned in his veins. Jareth knew it but did nothing to repel them, their unhurried rhythm like the soft wash of waves against the shore. It had been so long since anyone had touched him.

"This is what I choose." The floor was cold and damp, but Jareth pressed his cheek against it it all the same.

"There are other choices," she urged, "What is this land to you but a burden? Let it be. A lion abandons the carcass of his kill to lesser creatures when there is little left but bones."

_Black smoke and ash rising above a bloody field. Stormcrows circling over the fallen, and in the skies, a great white bird..._

Jareth knew well what creatures haunted the battlefield, before and after. Lamplight cast twisting shapes upon the floor: wolves fighting over a ripped and mangled carcass, the Labyrinth a kingdom of bones.

The words came of their own volition, toneless and flat as if he recited from memory. "A ruler who abandons the land he holds is king of nothing and no one."

Reganne's hand did not pause. It moved down to his hip, straying across the flat of his stomach, stroking. Such a tightness there, muscles knotted in upon themselves until he was a coiled spring. Jareth felt her draw closer, fitting herself to the curve of his back. Her breath was warm upon his shoulder.

"There are other lands to conquer and rule. You know it as well as I. Lands even more beautiful than this one..."  
_  
_The Goblin King wished for more water. A drop trickled down his cheek and he caught it on his tongue, tasting salt. _No,_ he thought.

"Yes," she breathed as if she heard, "Only tell me how to reach them and we will go there, you and I. No more dark dreams, no more pain and regret, this I promise. They will be forgotten, just as you will forget this place in time."

Jareth's response was a hoarse chuckle. "Even I cannot run away from my responsibilities without paying the price. It was you who taught me that."

The caresses paused briefly, then resumed. "Was it such a great price to pay? Once upon a time, you thought my love was worth a kingdom and more."

"That was once upon a time. I've had ample opportunity to repent my poor judgment."

The Goblin King tried to keep his voice steady, but it came out cracked and uneven. The warmth she'd stroked back into his skin was spreading lower and deeper; he was no longer coiled, but taut as a harp string in its frame. Deft hands worked to unfasten his breeches. His wife's mouth worked its way up from his shoulder, warm and wet along his jaw. She whispered his name as she nuzzled and bit the nape of his neck, gently at first, then harder.

Jareth's bonds held him tight, the air cool against his damp skin as she continued to stroke him. Reganne's scent was of dusty earth and the musk of roses, and underlying it was a sharp piquancy like the bitter pith of an orange. If it were not for this, he could almost pretend she was someone else--

The coldly rational portion of the Goblin King rebelled against the familiar rush of heat, hating it even as it made him dizzy with pleasure. High up on the wall in their rings of iron, the chains grew slacker yet, a hushed rasp like the raising of a portcullis. His wife's caresses took on a new urgency, her murmurings a satisfied purr deep in the back of her throat. Impatient hands tugged at his breeches, baring more of his skin; a firm grip encircled the rapidly filling hardness.

With a wordless moan, Jareth rolled onto his back and she moved to straddle him, her unbound hair cloaking them both. Her gown rustled as it rode up over her bare thighs. Slipping it over her head, she let it fall to one side, a subtle shifting of weight that had Jareth groaning at the intimate heat of her against him.

In the lamplight's pallid glow, his wife's body was the color of new ivory, the curve of her breasts contrasted against the darker rose of her nipples. Jareth's bonds were just long enough for him to reach her if he let them cut deeper into his wrists. She shuddered. The tiny movement made each individual link chime softly as a bell, a bright, discordant melody.

He imagined their places exchanged: fine silver chains criss-crossing her bare skin like a fisherman's net, the manacles on her wrists and ankles, the pale spread of her thighs as she strained against them. She was a vessel waiting to be broken, an offering for another's pleasure to be taken or discarded at will.

Ragged pain echoed in the Goblin King's breast, the slow trickle of if fed with his rage until he could barely breathe. _Sorceress. Thief._

Yet when she shifted her weight again, his breath rose sharply. He desired her. She was not what he wanted, but he desired her.

Jareth closed his eyes. Somewhere in his prison was the sound of dripping water, each drop breaking itself upon the rock and forming anew. He slowed his breathing and heartbeat to match. Every passing minute brought him a little closer to being forever lost, cast out into the wilderness and the howling dark. If he could keep some part of himself separate, some small piece she couldn't touch or taint...

The point of a blade pricked the hollow of his throat, digging in just enough to make him bleed. His wife wielded it with an undisguised hunger, icy metal trailing a hot crimson wake behind it down along his breastbone. She bent to lap it from his skin, and the sweet pull of her mouth on the wound made him gasp. The torn flesh parted easily, the rough strokes of her tongue growing hotter as she rocked gently back and forth on top of him. Pain and pleasure mingled in a slow burning fire, and Jareth gripped her hips to urge her closer, faster. As she moved upon him, he felt himself slipping further away.

"You mean nothing to me. Less than nothing."

Reganne did not answer. She leaned forward, hair falling in a veil about her face through which her eyes were bright as two coins._ In time, I will be everything to you, _they said._ You will never have her, but I will never leave you.  
_  
The hurt forgotten, fury burned in a fiery line down his midsection, hardening in the pit of his stomach. The Goblin King reached up and seized a handful of her hair, wrapping it around his fist.  
_  
Now, _he thought, triumph drowning his despair. While the chains allowed him some movement, while he had the strength. He could put his hands around that slender throat and snap her neck like a bird's. He could let her die in the dark, hold her body tightly to him until the last of the heat drained out and left her as cold and lifeless as the stone which trapped them both.

His wife smiled at him as if she could read his every thought. Perhaps she could. Slowly, she brought the the dagger to her mouth, licking the crimson off the glinting edge before she let it fall. With a blood-slick hand, she touched his lips, letting him taste it. Sick with loathing and longing bound up tight in the core of him, Jareth took her fingertips into his mouth. Copper and salt and the musk of roses. His skin crawled at the contact even as he craved more. _  
_  
Reganne's voice pressed down upon his heart like an iron weight. "We neither of us can escape our fate."

Jareth snarled and pulled her beneath him; she was wet, blood and sweat making slippery the friction between their bodies. He entered her roughly, relishing the soft grunts forced from her lips as the ridge of her backbone met the floor with bruising force again and again. His hands and mouth would leave marks upon her breasts, but his wife made no move to stop him. Reganne arched to meet each fresh assault, her hair wild and tangled in his fists. Her legs were clasped tight around his waist, and the occasional hoarse cry escaped her lips, urging him on.

Jareth turned his face away and cursed her, the skin of his palms scraped raw on the rock. "I won't give you what you want."

Reganne's own breathing was uneven as she let her head fall back, baring her white throat. Dried blood smeared her chin, bold and jagged as the stroke of a paintbrush. The tip of her tongue wet her upper lip._ Harder, _she taunted him_. More. _Her nails dug into Jareth's back, scratching long furrows down it until he cried out again.

Her eyes never left his face. _You will give me everything, just as you gave me the memory of her who was lost...  
_  
"No," said Jareth, voice breaking as he gasped for air, "I won't."

When he moaned again and bit down savagely upon her neck, she knew she would not have long to wait. The Goblin Queen triumphed silently._ You will. And I will never leave you._

* * *

He was blind. His body ached as if he'd flown for days upon end, and when he licked his lips he tasted blood. Jareth fumbled at the neck of his shirt, hating how the pressing darkness felt against his skin-- clinging to it like an oily film, something he inhaled with each breath. The wound on his breast was already healing; soon there would be nothing except the scar that had been there before, thin and silver-white as a line of frost upon a window pane.

It was cold in this prison, but not so cold he could no longer feel. The Goblin King slept, and as he slept, he imagined that he lay on the surface of a frozen lake, the ice as smooth as a looking-glass so that it reflected back thousands upon millions of stars in the night sky. He sought out familiar constellations, but they were nowhere to be seen. He dreamed that the brightest star hanging above the eastern horizon was the light from a window, and that he stood on the outside looking in.

_Sarah._

He opened his mouth to say it, but his breath escaped in a white puff of mist and there was no sound. Snowflakes drifted down, silent as death as they gathered upon his eyelashes. That they melted upon his skin told him he was still alive. Jareth blinked them away, and all the light vanished.

There was no snow, no frozen lake, and no stars. The cold remained. The Goblin King drew a shuddering breath, and it was then he noticed it: an odor not of dank stone and rust but of herbs and woodsmoke, rainwater and lye.

Footsteps came from down the hall, so quietly that Jareth felt rather than heard them. Summoning up his strength, he turned in its direction, feeling his way along the cracked stone floor. The door creaked on its hinges, letting in a draft of warmer air as it swung wide. The footsteps stopped. The Goblin King focused on the black emptiness, trying in vain to see if a figure stood outlined in the doorway.

"Please," he said hoarsely, "Don't go."

Jareth strained to listen for the telltale sound of another creature's breath, wondering if his was as loud and labored as it sounded to his own ears. There was nothing but a soft rattle and the click of a tin opening, then a quick rasp as a match flared to light behind someone's cupped hand. It grew to a golden orb, steady and bright.

The Goblin King had been so long in the dark that it hurt him, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

_Bring water,_ he thought he heard someone say.

Work-roughened hands tended to his hurts: bathing his hands and face with warm water that tasted of rain and oak barrels. A clean shirt was slipped over his head and a cup of hot liquid pressed to his lips, sweeter than honey and potent as liquor. He drank deeply.

Languid warmth spread through his limbs until he felt as if he were floating adrift in some great inland sea. Jareth could not tell if it was one pair of hands or many gently pushing and pulling him to his feet. He slipped in and out of awareness, and at times it seemed that the candle was a distant sun, drowning in the black pit just as he was drowning.

_A little further,_ coaxed a voice. _Just a few more steps..._

But there were always a few more steps after that, and then, a few more. Hands guided him down the long hallway and to the foot of a spiral stair that went up forever, the progress slow and painful. Still the voice urged him on, would not let him rest-- not just yet. Jareth was too far gone to speak, but he could listen. The voice and the speaker were known to him.

It had been so long ago, but still the Goblin King remembered.

_The woman was draped from head to foot in a cloak of coarse brown wool too large for her slender frame, but enough to cover her and the girl-child. Their garments had once been fine; here and there was a glint of gold thread, a bedraggled bit of lace stained and torn. The child's eyes were glazed and empty, and she hummed a ceaseless fey melody to herself in a breathless, whispery undertone. Her hair was the color of night, cropped close to her head as if someone had trimmed it with a dull knife. She never left the woman's side, only clung like a silent shadow._

_They'd asked for so little._

_Food and water, shelter from the storm. The woman was clever in the way of those to whom much had been promised and little delivered. She had not spoken of gates, nor of safe passage. Not until later. They had traveled far, she'd said. Her man was cruel, for him to find them would mean death, both for her and the child. They must escape._

_Jareth was not heartless, but neither was he foolish. He had his own kingdom to protect, and to risk so much for two outcasts was not like him. Yet there had been something in the woman's expression, a fierce determination undimmed by trial and hardship. There had been something in the way she laid her hand upon his arm in supplication, asking for--_

_Sanctuary,_ he tried to tell them.

They did not take him to the king's tower but to his own rooms. Jareth fell back upon the bed with a groan, and someone pulled the coverlet over him. Fine linen and heavy silks, a feather mattress so thick and soft he sank into it.

_In payment of a long-ago debt,_ the faraway voice whispered. _Ask, and I will do what I can._

Jareth buried his face in the pillows, his wrists raw and red. They too, would be healed by morning, but not him, not where it mattered. A hesitant hand touched his head, brushing back the damp strands of hair as if soothing a small child. Jareth thought he heard someone hum a few bars of an old lullaby, rusty and faltering as if unused to doing so.

He luxuriated in the simple comfort of it, sleep descending quickly. He was in another place, his head pillowed in the lap of a dreaming girl with apple blossoms in her hair. Trees gave them shade and tall grasses hid them from sight, and at their feet bubbled a spring-fed stream, cold and clear...

When the Goblin King spoke, it came out in a barely intelligible murmur.

"Keep her safe. I ask nothing for myself, but keep her safe."

* * *

_Comments/reviews welcome._

**Author's Notes:** _A big thank you to **Whiteraven**, **StormChild** and **Thessaly** for looking over sections of this chapter and offering their excellent critiques and advice. They did their best to steer me through a tough scene, and if it still doesn't meet expectations, it's my own wretched fault.  
_


	12. Hope and Memory

_**Recap: **Alone in the garden and waiting for the witching hour, the Goblin Queen casts a small magic and dreams about what she cannot have. Jareth is troubled by Sarah's presence, though he doesn't know who she is. When night falls, he's once again under his wife's spell. This time, she takes what she wants of him, but there's still one thing Jareth must protect. Afraid for his king, Sir Didymus is determined to break his way out of his dungeon prison but he is nearly out of food and lockpicks..._

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Hope and Memory**

The raven touched down upon the ledge, settling its wings with a shake before scratching at the closed shutters. This was a peculiar window, round as a porthole and tucked between an angled wall and the ramparts. The hinges were well-oiled, but the bolt was rusty and looked like it had not seen use in an age. Yet the raven knew that sometimes if he were to peck at the shutters, they might open. On some days, there might be corn.

Today there was nothing, and the raven took wing again.

Strong winds battered the castle peaks in the late hours of dawn, the spires wrapped in mist rising from the cool, green gardens below. The sun had not yet warmed the stone to the comfortable heat of a long afternoon; there were no thermals for the raven to ride. As he made another slow circle, he scanned the air above him-- birds of prey and scavengers larger than he also flew these skies, and the largest of them all had no love for interlopers.

On his third pass over an abandoned watchtower, he found something of note. Wedged between two stones was a twist of gold braid from the trim of a jacket. The ends were frayed as though they'd been bitten through rather than cut, and fastened to it was a stubby length of hollow reed. Edging nearer in a series of sidelong hops, the raven tweaked at it gingerly with his beak. When it came free, he seized it and took off again, exclaiming in a croaking chuckle over his newfound treasure.

Like so many of his kind, the raven understood the meaning of bribery.

* * *

For the first night since she returned to the Labyrinth, Sarah's rest was untroubled. There were no cold torrents of rain or dark towers, no sensation of falling forever-- just deep and dreamless sleep. Burying her face in the pillow, Sarah stretched until her bare heels met the wall at the foot of the bed. The sore muscles in her arms and back twinged, and her yawn turned into a groan.

Hoggle looked up from where he was squatting by the hearth, toasting bread and cheese over the hot coals.

"About time," he observed, "Some maid you are, sleeping past dawn like that."

Sarah grinned, sliding out of the little bed. "Morning, Hoggle."

It was cool in the cottage, the smell of woodsmoke mingling with the lavender on the sheets. Hoggle had been busy. The kitchen table was back in its proper place and adorned with a fat blue jug of marigolds, all the windows were open and the front door was ajar, the step freshly swept and scrubbed. Grumbling to himself as he readied breakfast, the dwarf was cranky as ever, as if it the events of the previous night had never happened and it was just another ordinary day.

Sarah was beginning to think she'd greatly underrated the dull and uneventful.

"Clean water and soap in the basin 'round the side of the house," said Hoggle with a pointed sniff, "Take the advice of a friend-- you could do with a wash."

Despite her friend's chaffing, the sun had not risen much above the horizon when Sarah stepped out the cottage door. The four deep claw marks in the wood looked even worse by daylight-- jagged and splintered, they were an ugly reminder that the Labyrinth was no longer the same place she remembered. Hoggle's grim talk of creatures that stalked the night was the stuff of nightmares. This was a warning, he'd said, one that stated in no uncertain terms that interference was unwelcome. It wasn't a warning Sarah planned to heed.

A chipped pitcher and basin sat on a shelf by the side of the cottage along with a sliver of brown soap. Sarah washed and did the best she could to smooth back her hair and shake the wrinkles out of her gown. She'd changed before leaving the servants' quarters, but it was little better than the previous outfit. This shirt had been patched many times at the elbows, and the tunic and skirt were a muddy green, as if the dye had run out after too many launderings.

Sarah had given up being vain about her clothes a long time ago, but wearing what looked like rejects from a Salvation Army dumpster would take some getting used to. For reassurance, she touched the little bundle concealed deep in her skirt pocket: the Goblin King's silver coin and Sir Didymus' talisman. These, at least, were proof that she was more than she seemed.

Back in the kitchen, Hoggle had set out breakfast. Thick slices of bread with cheese bubbling golden brown around the edges, hot tea with milk and a small bowl of strawberries sprinkled with sugar sat on the table. The dwarf dispatched his share with a speed that suggested he had room for more, but he spooned the last of the berries onto Sarah's plate and glowered ominously until she ate them.

"I've got a plan," he announced, after finishing the last bite of his bread and cheese. "You're not going to like it maybe."

Sarah eyed her friend with growing suspicion. Hoggle busied himself with stacking away the dishes, refusing to meet her gaze.

"I've been thinking that you keeping busy in the kitchen isn't such a bad idea. Gets you out of harm's way at least, and no one will think to look for you there."

"Hoggle..." she said warningly.

"I'm not saying you can't _help,_ mind you. But just for today, you could stay in hiding and I'll look out for Didymus. There's no point in both of us nosing around or someone will notice we're asking too many questions."

Sarah set her spoon down with a hard click. "That wasn't what we agreed to do last night," she argued reproachfully, "You need me, Hoggle. Without me, you'll never get into the castle or to see Jareth--"

"Jareth!" exclaimed the dwarf irritably, "Don't you go dragging _him_ into this. You've seen him, he can barely help himself. If the knight couldn't count on him, then neither can we. Maybe it was different before, but the way things are now, he'll let Didymus hang before he'd lift a finger."

"I'll never believe it," she said fiercely, "I _have_ seen him and I know there's still some part of him that--"

Sarah stopped, her mouth open. Hoggle seized the teapot as the nearest weapon and looked around worriedly.

"What? What is it?"

But Sarah had already pushed her chair away from the table and was halfway to the door, a stricken look on her face. "I'm supposed to be there, Hoggle. I'd forgotten. God, how could I forget?"

"Sarah, wait!" called her friend, "You can't just--"

The girl hurried out the gate and back toward the kitchen gardens, calling over her shoulder, "He's expecting me back, I have to go. Come on, Hoggle!"

The dwarf surveyed the mess on the breakfast table, shaking his head at the river of spilled sugar soaking up puddles of spilled tea. Then he sighed and followed Sarah as fast as his bad knee would allow.

* * *

In her mantle of fine grey wool, Ana was a shadow.

A network of corridors lay behind the castle walls, branching out from its heart like the spokes of a wheel. She chose her way with care, taking a roundabout path from the kitchens to the great hall. The passage was cramped and airless, barely wide enough to admit a full-grown adult. Cobwebs hung from the beam supports, their sticky strands clinging to her as she passed. The floor rushes were matted with dirt and a thin grime of tallow-grease and soot covered the walls.

Ana carried no light, navigating each turn by touch and memory. The path turned abruptly and began slanting upwards, shallow steps that flattened out to higher ground. Narrow gaps in the stone allowed a little air and even less sunlight. In such a castle there should have been a hum of early morning activity: servants gossiping as they tidied beds and swept floors, the coarse conversation of guards as they changed shifts. But here there was only room after empty room, as if all the lords and ladies of the court ceased to exist as soon as they stepped behind closed doors.

A scuffling noise sounded behind her and Ana stilled, flattening against the wall. To be cornered here, so far away from the earth and sky and world above... She cursed herself for her foolishness. Then a small head butted hard against her leg, lean body winding around her ankles with a soft and possessive yowl. Yellow eyes gleamed up at her-- one of the many stray cats that hung about the kitchens, living off scraps and what mice they caught in the storerooms. Ana slowly released the breath she'd been holding.

_Begone,_ she thought, putting a none-too-gentle edge to the thought. _And if you dare follow me __again, not even your nine lives will be enough to save you._

The cat bestowed upon her a single reproachful glance before padding off down the corridor, tail held high. Ana watched it leave, waiting for her heartbeat to slow. The odor of moldy straw was enough to make her eyes water but she didn't care, grateful only that there was no one to see the tremor of her hands as she felt her way through the dark. When she reached the end of the corridor Ana hesitated. She risked much to stray so far from her own domain. Years of careful discipline repeated in a dutiful chant at the back of her mind:

_Be still. Attract no attention. Bend, so that you shall not break._

These were the lessons survival had taught her, and Ana ignored them all now.

The great hall was empty, but the remains of last night's feast still sat on the tables. Gnawed bones swam in congealed grease, but meat remained uneaten on the joint. Bread had been broken and left on the floor to be trampled underfoot along with spoiled fruit and half-empty dishes. The saltcellar was overturned and clouds of flies hovered over sticky puddles of spilled wine. Seeing so much waste kindled a hard little resentment within her, but Ana set her jaw and let it go.

_There was a time when I might have done the same. I have forgotten how it is to live as if the world existed for my pleasure alone._

She could not find it in herself to regret the change.

Much effort had been taken to design the great hall for the court of the Goblin Queen. Each column was white seamless stone, each wall was hung with tapestries in rich colors that shimmered by candlelight. When night fell, the glass-domed ceiling would be a sea of stars to dazzle the dancers below. Yet there was nothing of beauty and elegance in it; this was a corrupt court, each feast a slow poison, shining artifice that sheathed a rotting heart.

The housekeeper knew full well why this place disturbed her. It reminded her of home.

On the far side of the hall was an alcove concealed with silk draperies and a very small magic. It called to her from across the room; the threads of her old spell sang like the strings of a lyre, filling the air with its golden tremolo. This was the way of things, thought Ana with a humorless smile. However you changed, the magic remained the same. Magic _remembered_.

Inside, everything was as she'd left it: the deep cushioned seat with its rich brocade coverings, the carved beads of perfumed sandalwood strung from the high ceiling... the mirror. Ana stood and listened to the hidden harmonies of the room, quiet reverberations like a faraway roll of thunder. Only three had passed this way, leaving their footprints in the thin layer of dust on the floor. Only one had come through the looking-glass.

The housekeeper laid her cheek on the mirror's cool surface and closed her eyes. She did not need to see the wooden frame beneath her hands, for she knew its pattern as well as she knew herself: the twisted root and spreading branches of whitethorn, heavy clusters of pearl-round buds and blossoms concealing the wicked spines. In each corner, four faces: one for wisdom, one for grief, one for joy, one with a burning hunger that would never rest content...

And how long had it been since she'd passed through the very same mirror?

Ana caught her breath, recalling the pain of it. It was a mistake to come here, and she blamed the weakness of old memories-- all the ancient hurts with their claws set deep into her heart when she'd thought them long gone. The mirror trembled, and then its hard surface against her cheek was was not glass but silvery mist, shifting to let her pass through to the world between worlds...

Magic remembered.

Ana stepped back quickly, letting her hand fall away. Breaking contact was not quite enough-- even as the feeling faded, the room still echoed dimly with the sound of a young girl's singing, a wordless melody meandering into a minor key.

It was an illusion. Ana was alone. Only her own reflection looked back, a grey and haunted shade with longing writ clearly across its face. It had almost been too easy-- another moment and she would've been pulled through like a swimmer caught in the undertow.

But the mirror was again just wood and glass, beautiful and brittle.

"One day, perhaps," she said quietly, "But not yet."

She'd made a promise long ago, a lie rashly told to spare someone the sorrow of parting. As much as she might wish it, there was no going back to that place and time. With one last look, the housekeeper left the alcove, taking care to sweep away all traces of her passing.

_Honor and duty,_ Ana reminded herself, hands folded tightly beneath her mantle as she drifted silent as a ghost from the great hall. Only this world was left to her now and she would not abandon it.

This time, she would not run.

* * *

Stumbling across the threshold, Sarah caught herself just in time to avoid a fall. The tower was cool and musty with the scent of old books, sunlight streaming through the ivy-covered window onto the empty desk. The Goblin King himself was nowhere to be seen, and the door to the adjoining chamber was shut. Sarah stared at the chaos of the library. Nearly half of yesterday's work had been undone: piles of books she'd neatly sorted lay splayed and tumbled, pages creased as if someone had torn them out by the handful. The fire had gone out, but bits of charred paper were scattered over the hearth. Raking through the ashes, Sarah retrieved a piece no larger than the palm of her hand. It was still warm, smoke curling up from its ragged edges. The words were smudged and slanted darkly across the page as if written in haste:

_A spell of summoning..._

_... in dreams, cannot bring myself to destroy-- _

_All I have left... Sarah. _

Her name leapt from the page. No, not her name, it couldn't be-- scorch marks had rendered the letters nearly illegible and the sentences were incomplete. But before she could finish reading, the bottom half crumbled away to fine black powder, and Sarah couldn't hold back a sharp intake of breath at its loss.

"Where have you been?"

The door to the bedchamber now stood open and the Goblin King had slipped silently into the room. His demeanor was all icy reserve, but each word had a brittle edge to it that made Sarah flinch. It was just as well Hoggle had insisted on remaining behind in the kitchen gardens. This was no reasonable king she faced this morning; this creature wore his anger beneath a hard and glittering mask.

Clothed head to foot in disheveled black with gloves to match, Jareth looked as if he'd spent the night pacing the floor of his bedchamber. Beneath his eyes were bruised shadows and his skin looked strangely translucent, like fine porcelain held up to the light. In his left fist was clenched something too small to see.

"I meant to come earlier, but there was so much to do..."

The excuse sounded weak even to her own ears, and Sarah began scooping up armfuls of paper to hide her guilt.

"A lie. They knew nothing of you in the kitchens. You were summoned, but were nowhere to be found."

She had been missed, Sarah realized. Who would've told him? Not Cian. But Ana... surely not.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"You had your orders. I expected you _here_." To punctuate the last word, the Goblin King slammed his hand down upon the desk and something small and oblong skittered away from his grasp. He ignored it, his voice was a low and accusing snarl. "I called for you, but you didn't come. Many times I called--"

He stopped. All the blood drained from Jareth's face, leaving it taut and white; he fell heavily against the window ledge as though his legs could no longer hold him. Sarah started forward, but the sudden fey look flickering in his eyes warned her away.

Tendrils of ivy crept over the window-sill, their rootlets anchored deep into the rock. The wind stirred the Goblin King's fair hair. One gloved hand rested on the ledge, lean body tensed as if for flight. She'd seen him do it before, that last moment of parting etched in her memory: a despairing cry, the shards of glass that glittered like stardust as they fell, and the touch of feathers against her cheek before he vanished. She'd never forgotten.

Sarah stood quite still.

Seconds ticked by, each one a lifetime. Ravens called hoarsely to one another in the courtyard below, their distant noises like the sound of squabbling children. Jareth's expression hardened, a fleeting, hungry look before he collected himself.

"Forgive me, Mouse. It would seem that I am not myself this morning. Continue with your work, as I shall continue with mine."

The Goblin King's cordiality seemed almost normal save for the utter lack of emotion in his eyes. This was a mechanical semblance of charm, one no less disturbing than his loss of control only moments before.

The desk was an untidy jumble of scrolls and spilled ink, and partly hidden beneath a sheaf of blank paper was the object that had earlier escaped his grasp. It was the size of a nut, oval and a light honey color with a deeply pitted surface. The Goblin King's hand came down upon it and concealed it once more, moving so swiftly that Sarah didn't see where it had gone. Jareth now wore a guarded look, and she felt as if she'd been caught prying.

Sarah clutched the pile of papers reflexively to her chest. "Do you need anything?"

In the long pause for his reply, the Goblin King seemed to be listening to something she could not hear, his ear attuned to some faraway melody. Finally he shook his head.

"I need nothing." _And no one_, said the unforgiving set of his shoulders.

With that, Jareth's mask dropped back into place, and Sarah could no more read his thoughts than she could decipher the twists and turns of the Labyrinth. She remembered the scrap of paper in her hand. Jareth was the only one who could've destroyed the journal, but what reason he might have for burning his private papers, Sarah could not guess.

She held it out tentatively. "What should I do with this?"

The Goblin King gave it a cool, cursory glance. "Throw it away. It is damaged, and of no value to anyone now."

_You're wrong,_ thought Sarah as she slipped the ruined fragment between the pages of a dusty book for safekeeping. _It's of value to me._

Sorting through the library was an even slower and more tedious process than it had been the day before, and this time she had no interest in the titles or subjects. But the shelves filled little by little, with Sarah fitting back the torn-out pages as best she could. When she was finished, Sarah swept the ashes off the hearth and lit a small fire. She found a damp cloth and began to dust, picking up one item after another more out of stubborn curiosity than a desire to clean.

First came the jade dragon with the black pearl clasped in its claws, then the slender vials of sea-green glass, their stoppers sealed with wax. A curio box carved of teak opened easily, revealing a polished moonstone round as a pearl. She wiped the dust from a heavy ivory cup set with silver and sapphires, setting it back on its high shelf with care. All the while, Sarah was only too aware of the man across the room, but the Goblin King did not notice or object to her explorations.

Jareth wrote feverishly, but the work was laborious and many sheets of paper were crumpled thrown aside as he began anew. After a time, the gloves were pulled off and discarded carelessly. He consulted a large map laid out on the desk, tracing the boundaries with his fingertips so intently that it seemed as if he saw the landscape itself stretching out before him.

When she was sure Jareth's attention was monopolized by his work, Sarah risked a peek into the niche where she'd found the gold bracelet the day before. She couldn't forget how the serpent had seemed to writhe upon her arm, gold talons digging into her wrist and jeweled eyes bright. Only an illusion, she reminded herself. Yet once she'd thought the Labyrinth was only illusion. What she'd seen, the vision of fire and battle, what she'd heard spoken--

Her hand slipped behind the ponderous volumes of military history and met with empty space. The bracelet was gone.

A startled panic seized her. Kicking off her shoes, Sarah stepped barefoot up on a pile of books and reached as far back on the shelf as she could. Nothing. Her fingers came away gray with dust, hollow disbelief a sudden ache in her throat. Until now, she hadn't realized how much she'd wanted to see the bracelet again-- to slip it on and feel the rush of power emanating from it, prickling her skin with a furious heat that was like standing too close to the fire. Climbing down from her makeshift steps, Sarah wrung the cloth tightly until her knuckles turned white.

Asking Jareth where it might be was out of the question. Sarah winced at the memory of how he'd seen it on her arm, the look in his eyes as if he were seeing her for the first time. She wondered if it would always be this way when he looked at her-- all of her secrets made plain as the words on a page.

Sarah looked down at the pink line of scar tissue puckering her ash-streaked palm. _And then there are some secrets we share._

The knight's talisman lay heavy in her pocket, its weight a quiet reproach. Something precious, he'd called it, his small paw pressing the handkerchief-wrapped object into Sarah's hand. Earlier she'd insisted to Hoggle that the Goblin King could and would help, and now she was afraid to ask. She bit her lip. Didymus had trusted her, so she must find the courage.

Sarah's thoughts strayed again to the serpentine bracelet: golden wings and gleaming eyes, smooth coils both hot and cold against her skin. What had it whispered, deep in the twilight of her dreaming mind?

_Goblin Queen..._

Jareth had ceased his restless discarding of parchments; now his pen flew across the paper without pause. Upon finishing one dispatch, he set it aside for the ink to dry and began another, writing as quickly as before.

She addressed him without thinking. "Jareth--"

_Snap._ The tip of the Goblin King's quill broke, sending droplets of ink spraying across the desktop.

"Yes?" He dabbed at the spill with a bit of blotting paper, seemingly absorbed in his work.

Sarah's newfound courage deflated. _I'm such an idiot._ She'd called him by name so many times in her own thoughts, but to say it aloud was something else entirely.

"I--" Sarah slipped her hand into her skirt pocket, reaching for the talisman. Instead her fingers closed around the silver coin and she squeezed until its cold edges bit into her palm. "I need your help."

All movement in the room stilled. Jareth looked up, the damaged quill black and sleek as a blade in his hands.

"Sir Didymus is missing," she said quickly, "No one seems to know where he is. If you could help..."

The Goblin King's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Is that all? Didymus is discharging certain orders, nothing more than that. I needed him elsewhere."

Elsewhere? But Sir Didymus had said nothing to her that indicated he meant to leave. The more Sarah thought about his clandestine visit, the more furtive it seemed. For all his cheer, the knight's speech had been hurried with a distinctly guilty air he'd tried to conceal-- along with his presence in the Labyrinth. Disobedience was not in his nature, and neither was subterfuge.

Sarah's stomach tightened in apprehension. _Oh, Didymus._

"Pining for the little knight, are you? He'll be flattered to hear he's made another conquest, but I regret that his responsibilities will take him away for quite some time. There are so few I can trust these days."

If the words were loaded, Jareth's face betrayed nothing.

"But... Are you sure he's where you think he is? What if he thought it was in your best interest to not to leave?"

The Goblin King gave her a level look. "Sir Didymus will do his duty. No one would ever dare suggest otherwise."

"Of course he will." Sarah nearly forgot her argument in her indignation. "But what if something were to happen to prevent him from going? What if he were in trouble?"

"You are full of 'what ifs' today, Mouse. I had not expected to find myself discussing such confidential matters of state with a kitchen maid."

Jareth's tone had taken on a more playful, mocking air, the feathered tip of the quill resting against his chin as if in deep thought. He enjoyed this, Sarah realized. The Goblin King was in his element in such an exchange: speaking in riddles, holding knowledge just out of reach. She refused to smile or rise to the bait.

"Please. It's very important."

Four flat black stones weighted down each corner of the map in his desk. The Goblin King palmed one, then made it disappear and reappear with a flick of his wrist. In doing so, his sleeve fell back and Sarah caught a glimpse of a fading scar circling his arm, tight and thin like a loop of white thread.

The stone flew high into the air and Jareth caught it lightly, spilling it out onto the desktop as if he were rolling dice. It tumbled end over end, oblong shape shimmering and blurring as it rolled. Sarah blinked. In that moment, the stone transformed into a scorpion with a carapace the color of obsidian, brandishing its barbed tail like a scimitar as its pinchers tested the air. Before she had time to do more than gasp and recoil, the scorpion hissed once and scuttled back to its place on the map, changing back into a smooth stone.

The Goblin King was once again solemn, observing her closely. He slid the map across the desk so Sarah could better see. It was the Labyrinth, she realized. Not just the maze at its heart but the woods that lay to the east, the arid lands to the west that gradually gave way to swamp, more forest and then mountains. She wondered if the Jareth had ever traveled the length and breadth of his own kingdom: riding through seas of tall grass, breathing in the cold air as it rolled down from the peaks, carrying with it the scent of snow and ice. From the way he looked at the map-- thoughts far away, as though he saw more than mere lines of ink on paper-- Sarah suspected he had.

With the tip of the broken quill, the Goblin King traced the lines that marked the western boundary and the mountain range that curved north and south.

"This kingdom has many enemies, and only the strength of our borders and our armies keep them at bay. If that protection fails, we are lost. But there is more at risk than this land. There are... other gateways and other worlds. The Labyrinth is only the beginning. Do you understand, Mouse?"

Sarah didn't, not quite, but she nodded hesitantly all the same.

"Didymus knows well the urgency of the task I have set him. There has never been occasion to question his loyalty-- or his courage."

_It's not his courage I doubt, _thought Sarah with a pang, _It's just that there's only one of him and he's so small..._

Jareth was studying her face, reading all the conflicting emotions upon it. "You fear for him."

"I do." _Because you don't realize just how many enemies you have, Goblin King-- and not all of them are waiting on the borders._

"I would hardly appoint him as my counselor if his abilities were not equal to the task. That people underestimate him is inevitable, but I thought you of all people would see beyond the surface."

That curious hunger gleamed again in his eyes, and Sarah knew how prey felt when a raptor's shadow crossed the sun. "Why me?" It came out as barely a whisper.

"Why not you? You are his friend, are you not? It is the burden of friends to see past the masks we wear to what lies beneath." Jareth swept all four stones off the map's surface, letting the parchment curl in upon itself. "I would not have you think me heartless. If I do not tell you where Didymus is or what he is doing, it's out of necessity, not spite. His life depends upon it."

"I'd never do anything to endanger him."

The Goblin King remained silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

"You can trust me." Sarah said it quietly, placing her hand flat on the desk. The new scar across her palm was still tender and pink from its rapid healing and though he could not see it, she knew Jareth would remember.

His gaze flickered down and away, but when he stood up his fingertips brushed across the back of her wrist and rested there for the briefest of moments.

"Tonight," he said in a low voice, "I'll need you. Will you come?"

Sarah didn't trust herself to speak, but she nodded firmly. The Goblin King seemed satisfied.

He took up a position on the ledge, back fitted to the slight curve of the window's opening, hands resting upon one bent knee. Framed by the ivy all around him, Jareth's restlessness burned brightly even as he lifted his face to the sun and sky. She studied his profile, fine dark lines against the deepening blue.

It reminded Sarah of the last time she'd seen her mother alive. Linda was out on the fire escape, leaning against the wrought iron railing as if looking for something to appear over the horizon's edge. It was a warm night for early May; her mother had insisted on going out for dinner at some fashionable fusion place before walking home along the promenade. They'd been speaking of Sarah's promotion at the art gallery, her plans for the new apartment. But on the fire escape, Linda fell silent. Her dark hair curled in soft waves around her shoulders and she pulled it back and out of the way, sighing a little as she did so. Sarah saw how sharp the lines of her mother's face had become, as if all the extra flesh had burned away and left only the clean ridges of bone beneath the fragile skin. Linda-- always aware of when she was being watched-- tried to smile and begin the conversation anew. In the end, what Sarah remembered was such an unexpected remark, oddly dispirited and sounding nothing like her mother at all.

_Even our sanctuaries can become prisons. _

In the courtyard below, all the ravens abruptly ceased their raspy calling and took off as one, sleek silhouettes rushing past the tower window and filling the air with a thrashing tumult of black wings. The Goblin King watched them recede into the distance.

"Don't be afraid," he said at last, "And never doubt him, for he may surprise you yet. He's not without his own resources and weapons, after all."

Hidden in her pocket, Sir Didymus' talisman felt heavier than ever but Sarah didn't dare take it out. Whatever he'd chosen to leave with her, it was something the knight had wished to keep safe-- something he'd hoped never to need. Sarah felt cold with dread and the heat of the afternoon sun did nothing to warm her. But the Goblin King was waiting for her to ask one last question.

"What... What exactly does he have?"

Jareth glanced back at her and a faintly bitter half-smile crossed his lips. "The key that opens all doors."

* * *

Hoggle found the housekeeper's servant on her hands and knees in the kitchen courtyard, scrubbing the cobblestones with a stiff brush. Her shirt was wet through and rolled up at the sleeves and her feet were bare, her cast-off shoes lying beneath the apple tree. As Hoggle approached, Cian sat back on her heels and returned his greeting with an amiable grin. She mopped her forehead with the back of her wrist, grimacing a little as she did so.

"Lady Anasta isn't here, but you're free to wait until she returns."

The sun was rapidly climbing into the sky, and Hoggle was grateful for the courtyard's shade. It had been a brisk walk from his cottage, but he'd die before admitting to Sarah that he needed a rest.

"Not her I came to see," he replied shortly, "But I'll take the offer and sit a while, if it's all the same to you."

"You could lend a hand, if you're so inclined."

Hoggle wasn't, but he knew how the game was played. Clean water was fetched from the well and he sluiced it over the cobblestones as Cian scrubbed. When that was done, the housekeeper's servant devoured her breakfast of bread and honey, unabashedly licking up the spilled drops and using her fingertip to pick up every last crumb.

The dwarf declined his share with a curt shake of his head. After his last encounter with the housekeeper, he'd didn't feel quite safe eating anything that came out of that kitchen, no matter how benign it looked. Cian gave a cheerful shrug and finished it off herself, then went back to cleaning. The cobblestones were turning a lighter shade under the determined ministrations of her brush, the grimy, rust-colored water running off into the grass.

Hoggle sat on the edge of the trough, shaving little curls of soap into the bucket with his pocket knife until the suds rose high. He cleared his throat noisily. "I suppose you're wondering why I'm here."

"It's a fair day," Cian offered, looking slyly at the dwarf from under her lashes. "Good for walking... and meeting old friends."

Hoggle clapped his hand over his wrist, suddenly certain that the maid could see past his shirt cuff to the the bracelet of colorful plastic beads he still wore. He had a horrible suspicion that the tips of his ears were scarlet, and his retort was sharper than usual.

"It was a cold night and damp to boot, fit for neither man nor beast. But that wouldn't bother a creature like you, would it?"

Cian's shoulders shook with silent laughter. "You and I are both tougher than we look."

"See here," said the dwarf bluntly, "I don't care much for your mistress and I dare say she isn't overfond of me, either. But you and I have always had fair dealings."

A noncommittal nod. "So we have."

"The knight's missing. No one's seen him go, and if he's still in the Labyrinth somewhere, he'd have sent word by now. I-- I'm not worried about that furry little fool, mind you, but it would break the girl's heart if something happened to him. I need your help."

Cian looked grave, all trace of mirth gone. "I'm sorry, Hoggle. Sir Didymus is beyond your reach and he will be well guarded. There's nothing Sarah can do."

Hoggle swore softly. It was as he feared-- Didymus had finally gotten himself into a mess from which he could not be extricated, not without the aid of someone far more powerful than he.

"And your mistress?" he asked, trying not to let hope creep into his voice.

A look of chagrin, quickly masked out of loyalty. "Don't count upon my lady's aid. You must think of something else, or I fear that Didymus won't see his freedom until the next full moon. We'll have an opportunity then, but not before."

The dwarf blanched. "The next-- That's impossible. No one escapes the hunt."

"It is a slim chance, but better than none at all." Cian's slight frame slumped, as if she sought to make herself smaller. "I'd help if I could, Hoggle. You know I would. Where he is, I... cannot go."

"But if there is some chance to help him later..."

Copper-gold curls stood out from Cian's head like a dandelion gone to seed, but her expression was solemn as stone. "Then I will. By sky and storm I swear it."

It was an odd sort of oath, but Hoggle wisely didn't question it.

* * *

_Comments/reviews welcome._

**Author's Note:** _I realize the updates have slowed down quite a bit, for which I apologize. My writing pace is a great deal slower these days and I have other writing projects that demand more of my time. At this point, I don't have any plans to go on hiatus or abandon the story-- it may just take a while. Meanwhile, thank you for your thoughtful reviews, they mean a great deal to me._


	13. The Witching Hour

_**Recap:** After spending an uneasy night in Hoggle's cottage worrying about Sir Didymus, Sarah and Hoggle resolve to find out what happened to the knight regardless of the trouble it might bring. Meanwhile, Ana makes a rare excursion out of the kitchen to the mirror in the great hall, reflecting on a time when she was not always what she was... and a time when she, too, passed through the mirror. Upon Sarah's return to the king's tower, she asks Jareth for help. With great reluctance, he agrees to see her- alone, after nightfall.  
_

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: The Witching Hour**

The oak was broad-limbed and ancient, standing taller than the surrounding pear trees. Over time, its roots had buried themselves deep in the wall, forcing apart the stones until it straddled the border of the kitchen gardens and the grassy meadow beyond. Few ventured so far into the pear orchard. All the paths were overgrown with stickthorn and reedy saplings, and in the summer the air was thick with the odor of fermenting fruit. Cian went there to be alone, and there was no one to deny her when she claimed the oak for her own. Branch by branch, she'd hauled away the deadfall and cleared the brambles at its base, pulling up weeds as she went. She'd cut out the rotting center, heartwood crumbling in her hands like stale bread.

Now the tree had a nest-like hollow high in its branches, padded with dried grass and hay stolen from the stables. Cian didn't mind that it provided little shelter from the wind and rain. She kept her treasures hidden in the nooks and crannies: river stones glinting with flecks of precious metal, black-banded pheasant feathers, a handful of the tree's own acorns. Lying on her back and looking up through a window of sky, she trailed her hand along a branch. Knots and whorls in the wood stood out beneath her fingertips, the ridged bark like cracked leather. She closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sun, humming a barely audible melody.

Cian knew a little magic. One did not keep the company she did without learning how.

Her humming grew softer and more monotonous until it rose and fell with the wind. Branches creaked as they cradled her, the oak shivering from root to tip with a low groan and a sigh. The scent of ozone blossomed forth: smoke and burning leaves like the metallic tang in the air before a storm. When the wind died away, Cian sat up and examined her work. A pale green shoot now grew where her hand had traced its circular pattern. New leaves would sprout in a day or so, and the branch would harden before winter's first frost.

_It is only a very little magic,_ she thought, massaging the tingling numbness from her fingers. _But even a kingdom can run on small magics, so long as there are enough of them._

Among her possessions was a box cunningly fashioned from a walnut shell. Cian weighed it in her palm before opening it. Packed carefully about with moss was a silver ring set with a milk-white stone, and a seashell spiraled like a unicorn's horn. Sir Didymus had brought it back from his faraway travels. She remembered how he'd presented it to her, with a low bow and a sweeping flourish of his hat.

Cian received few presents. Food, yes- the kitchen servants were indulgent of her mercurial habits and the way she avoided communal meals. They often left bowls of milk and bread on a shaded ledge in the courtyard where she would find it, windfall apples, pieces of honeycomb wrapped in grape leaves.

But the knight had given her a gift, one that served no practical purpose. She frowned as she slipped on the ring. She did not like metal or the way it felt encircling her finger, but the stone was cool against her skin and the color reminded her of clouds. The shell she touched tentatively to her tongue, relishing the taste of salt and sand. Cian had never been to the sea, though if she thought hard she could imagine desolate, stony beaches, the slate-grey waters lashed with rain.

Didymus knew many stories about the port cities, the silk and spice laden ships that sailed out of the harbor to disappear over the horizon. He told her tales of sea dragons and pirate queens, and how the sinking sun set the ocean afire each night only to be swallowed by the darkening waters. Cian had known few friends in her short lifetime. She'd learned to value them fiercely, though it was not the way of her kind.

Now there would be no more stories and no more gifts. Putting away the ring and the shell, she shut the box and buried it deep in the straw.

* * *

The servant's quarters were deserted at midday, which was precisely why Sarah and Hoggle had chosen it as a place to hide. The room she shared with Cian at least had a door, and the two conspirators made sure to latch it and push one of the rickety beds across the frame for added security.

Hoggle gave an accusing sniff from his seat on Sarah's bed, regarding the talisman with suspicion. "You could've mentioned this earlier."

"It was a secret," said Sarah in apology, "No one was supposed to find out. I don't even know if Didymus meant for me to open it."

"Of _course_ he meant for you to open it. Why else would he leave it with you?"

But opening the bundle was easier said than done. The handkerchief had Sir Didymus' initials monogrammed on one corner in dark blue thread. It was knotted three times around its mysterious contents, each time so firmly that Sarah had to use her teeth to pry them apart. Neither she nor Hoggle could bear the idea of taking a pair of scissors to the little knight's handkerchief, and neither of them spoke aloud of what might be inside.

_The key that opens all doors,_ thought Sarah.

But the object inside felt nothing like a key. From what she could discern through the layers of fabric, the shape was rounded and irregular with one end tapering off to a point. Sarah thought of the Goblin King and his cryptic riddle. It was almost like-

The last knot gave way and a silver object spilled out onto her palm. It was triangular, two corners curved like a pair of horns with a gold disc centered upon it. Etched on the disc was the serpentine symbol of infinity, and the pendant dangled from a worn black leather cord. Upon seeing it, Hoggle gasped and took a step back.

Sarah felt foolish. "Oh," she breathed. She'd seen it before, the symbol repeated everywhere in the Goblin King's tower- and before that, hanging from Jareth's neck and glinting against his pale breastbone.

"No good will come of _that_," said Hoggle emphatically. "For the love of turnips, put it back! Didymus should never have taken it."

Sarah held up the pendant, letting it twist back and forth on its cord. There was scant light in the room, but the metal caught what little there was like a prism, gleaming dully and casting angled rays upon the walls.

"We don't know that he took it."

"Jareth damn well didn't just give it to him as a birthday present!"

"But he knows Sir Didymus has it. He told me."

Even with all her reassurances, Hoggle refused to touch it, shaking his head vehemently. "Something like that is too precious to give away and too dangerous to use. I don't wonder that Didymus was toting it around in his pocket, but I'd hoped you had more sense."

Sarah had already slipped the cord around her neck, tucking the pendant beneath her shirt. There was a portentous weight to it, the metal quickly warming in contact with her skin. A laugh bubbled up unexpectedly from her throat, soft and rich as though she didn't have a care in the world.

_So this is what it feels like_. She smiled confidently at the scowling dwarf. "Come on, Hoggle. You know your way around the Labyrinth- which door shall we try first?"

* * *

She should have known it wouldn't be that easy. The castle was itself a labyrinth, and each crooked corridor seemed to lead them deeper into its heart. Sarah recognized a few places from her previous visit: the oubliette with its lone shaft of light to illuminate the darkness, the brick-lined tunnels, a crumbling section of wall where a blind beggar once sat with a tin cup in his hand.

This time there were no False Alarms, only concave trenches and rough-hewn stone where their imposing faces had been. She wanted to ask Hoggle what had happened, but her friend's grim silence discouraged questions. Whether it was chance or to the Goblin King's pendant around her neck, every door they came to swung open at the first try. Sarah and Hoggle found one empty storeroom after another, old wine cellars and odd passages that led absolutely nowhere at all.

Calculating time was difficult underground, but Hoggle reckoned it was well past midday when they stumbled out of yet another dusty corridor only to find themselves back where they'd begun- a wide hall not far from the servants' quarters. Sarah picked strands of cobweb from her hair, grimacing as she wiped her hand on the hem of her skirt. Hoggle coughed and spat, his shirt and vest grimy with dirt.

"This is useless," said the dwarf in disgust, "There are too many doors- we'll never find Didymus like this."

"You're looking for the wrong kind of door."

Cian had crept up behind them, silent as a cat. Bits of dried grass stuck to her clothing and mud streaked her bare shins as though she'd been grubbing in the dirt. In one hand she held a copper lantern, lights darting this way and that behind the cloudy glass. She slipped past, gesturing for them to follow.

Sarah looked at Hoggle, who shrugged. "Might as well."

The passage was wide enough for all three of them, but the friends crept along in a tight cluster with Cian at the front, keeping close to the pool of lantern light. Their voices took on a muffled quality as if dampened by the surrounding earth and stone. Sarah touched the girl's arm and was startled by how cold and clammy her skin felt.

"Is it much further?"

"Not long now." Cian's hand was steady as she held the lantern aloft, but a bead of sweat ran down her temple and left a glistening track down her cheek.

_She's terrified,_ realized Sarah. Cian's eyes were wide and glazed, quite unlike the careless creature she was aboveground. Every drip of water made her flinch. When Hoggle stumbled, a frightened squeak escaped the back of her throat. Sarah squeezed her friend's shoulder in sympathy and Cian gave her a grateful, quicksilver smile.

The corridor narrowed, brick and stone turning to hard-packed earth. Roots threaded through the soil like thin white worms seeking the light. Hoggle brushed his hand against the wall only to find that the roots were fragile; when broken, they oozed a foul and sticky sap the color of tar.

"Try not to touch anything else," Cian warned them, "It's not much further."

The tunnel ended abruptly in a wall of solid rock, seamless stone fitted tightly into the earth around it.

Hoggle made as if to kick the wall, then thought the better of it. "Well?"

"Here."

Cian swept her foot over the ground, displacing a layer of sand and grit. After a moment, Sarah joined her, sweeping from the center of the floor outward until the frame of a trapdoor was exposed. The door was round like the cover of a well, weathered wood with a great iron ring sunk into one side. When Sarah and Hoggle tried to lift it, neither the ring nor the door would budge.

Hoggle cursed and dug a fresh splinter out from his thumb. "That's that, then. Unless you know another way in."

Cian shook her head. "The other doors will be watched. There's no other safe way down- not to where this leads."

Sarah's hand went to the pendant around her neck. The metal gave off a radiant heat like a miniature sun and it hummed beneath her fingertips. _Yes,_ she thought. This is what the Goblin King's talisman was for- this was no ordinary door. Sarah faltered. But how to use it? She didn't know the right words.

"Try it again," she suggested aloud.

Hoggle glared at her as if she were mad. "What, me? By myself?"

Sarah nodded. She forced herself to relax her grip on the pendant, but Hoggle could not fail to notice the way she clutched the front of her shirt. _It's a key,_ she reasoned hopefully. _With a key, you don't __need the right words. _

The dwarf scowled and spat on both hands, then attacked the iron ring with renewed ferocity. His shoulders bunched and shook with the effort, but to no avail.

Hoggle glanced sourly at his companions. "You _could_ lend a hand, you know. My back isn't what it used to be."

Cian shrank back and refused, but Sarah stepped up to the door, one hand still resting lightly upon the pendant. The iron ring was pitted with age, the metal so cold that it seemed to leech the heat away from her skin with a single touch. Sarah repressed a shiver and grasped it tighter. She and Hoggle pulled together until their arms ached, but the door did not move.

"We could get an axe and try chopping through it." Hoggle sounded doubtful.

It was a tempting idea. Not for the first time, it occurred to Sarah that the castle was as bad as its king- a tangle of secret passages, false doors and dead ends. What good was the key if she couldn't make it work? Anger flared inside her and Sarah seized the iron ring with both hands. Bracing hard, she leaned back upon it with all her weight.

"Come on, Hoggle, _pull_! Just one... more... time..."

All at once rusted hinges squealed in protest and the trapdoor swung up with a shuddering groan, casting up a shower of dust and small pebbles.

Staggering back, Hoggle stared. "Gods help us."

The opening was a cavern, rounded sides rimmed with crumbling lichen like scaly rot eating away at the lip. Black and muddy green were the stones, the surfaces slick with mildew. The light of Cian's lantern lapped feebly at the edge of the abyss, and all they could see of its depths was a single carved stone step.

Cian was already edging away. "This is where I leave you. I've been underground once, by my mistress' command. Not even for her would I go down again."

"What's down there?" asked Hoggle.

"A winding stair. Then a long, dark passage." Sarah answered without thinking, then wondered how on earth she could possibly know.

Hoggle gave her a peculiar look, but Cian nodded in confirmation. She held out the lantern, its light steadier now. "Take it. It won't go out unless you will it, not even in the caverns." Depositing the globe in Sarah's hand, she retreated back down the hall.

"Well," said the dwarf, frowning in disapproval, "_She _sure didn't want to stick around to see what happens."

"Don't blame her, Hoggle. I don't think she can help it. We wouldn't have found the door without her."

Cian's slender form disappeared around a corner without a backward glance.

"Yeah. Remind me to thank her for that later."

The trap door lay at their feet like an open maw, steps descending in a spiral around an open shaft and disappearing into the darkness. Sarah resisted the temptation to drop a pebble down it and count the seconds until it hit bottom. She suspected neither she nor Hoggle would like the results.

Hoggle grunted. "No use standing around. Age before beauty," he said, waving Sarah aside and lowering himself down onto the first step, "Hold that lantern up so I don't fall and break my neck, will you?"

* * *

The memory plays tricks.

After the girl had gone, the Goblin King poured a glass of wine, the liquid a pale straw-gold like watered sunlight. He took up a fresh quill and a bottle of ink. Unfurling the map of his kingdom, he set the black stones back into place at each corner and tried to empty his mind of all distractions.

This map was the work of his own hand, and every square inch of it was known to him as intimately as the land itself. When he closed his eyes, he saw not only black lines and boundaries, but wide plains and the thousand mirrored pools of the marshes beyond. He saw long stretches of cracked earth and the gradual greening of the foothills as they rose to mist-shrouded peaks. The Goblin King had flown over his territory many times- enough to recall the sharp scent of the pine barrens, or how the wind sang unceasingly through the grasslands in the hours just before dawn.

All that he remembered. But there was something he'd forgotten...

Paper rustled on his desk, breaking his concentration. The oblique slant of the sunlight through his window told him it was no longer late morning; hours had passed while he'd allowed his mind to wander in search of that which eluded him. Jareth's vision blurred back into focus only to find that one corner of the map had begun to curl in on itself. The stone which held it down-

A scorpion scuttled out from beneath the map fold, barbed tail held high. It stopped in the very center, armor-plated back gleaming as it crouched upon the heart of the maze. Jareth regarded it with a curious sense of detachment. This should be not be. He had not summoned the magic to transform it. He could not even fathom why he'd done so for the girl. It was nothing but a conjurer's trick, illusory as all magics of that nature. There was no real danger.

But this... He reached out to trap the scorpion, thinking to isolate it in a glass for study. The Labyrinth was full of unstable magics and by necessity, Jareth was master of them all.

A brief, needle-like pain on the back of his hand told him differently. The Goblin King drew back with a hiss, a bright drop of blood beading on his skin in the join between thumb and forefinger. It was the color of rubies, and already he could feel the surrounding flesh heat as the toxins spread. He seized the nearest book thinking to crush the creature under its weight... but the scorpion had already changed back into a flat, black stone.

He touched it, expecting to feel some residual warmth or spark. There was nothing. Though his heart raced, he was not afraid. Scorpion stings were rarely fatal, and not to one such as him. This had merely been a warning. As the mild poison flowed through his veins, all Jareth's senses sharpened. He tasted the wound and the tip of his tongue went pleasantly numb, the venom both acidic and sweet.

_Other gateways and other worlds, _he'd told her. The secret had been his burden for more centuries than he could recall, shared by few and rarely spoken of aloud. He'd done the unthinkable, for no more reason than because the girl asked it of him. A breeze stirred the pages strewn over the study floor, stirring the now-cold ashes on the hearth. Scorched leather and burnt paper, words consumed by the fire. The Goblin King gripped the wrist of his injured hand tight, thinking of the girl and the scar that marked her palm like a brand.

She'd called him by name.

* * *

They descended the stair single file, Hoggle leading the way. It was precarious progress, even with the lantern blazing in Sarah's hand. The plane of each step was narrow and sloped slightly downward. Cold air rose from the open shaft in its center, and their footfalls echoed back at them from every turn. When Hoggle's knee pained him, they rested with their backs flattened against the wall for fear of falling. It seemed an age until they reached the bottom, stumbling out of the stairwell into a wide open cathedral of stone. A warm draft blew down the hollow shaft and from it rose a low, keening cry like a broken flute. Sarah looked up, but she could not see where the stair had begun.

"Best not to think about it," said the dwarf, wiping his face on his grubby sleeve, "We're a long way from anywhere we want to be, that's for sure."

A palpable dampness clung to their hair and clothing and the darkness pressed in from all sides. Stalactites hung down like teeth, and when Sarah raised the lantern high, they glowed with a faint phosphorescence. She'd been in caves before, tourist attractions with paved walkways and handrails, spotlights sunken into the walls. This place was nothing like that. Shadows trembled before the lantern light and their footsteps carried a deadened echo. The silence hung so emptily around them that she and Hoggle spoke in hushed voices just to fill it up.

"Huh. I thought nothing could be worse than the Bog. Turns out I was wrong."

A rat skull rolled up against Sarah's foot, and she kicked it away in disgust. "I can't imagine anyone ever coming down here on purpose. Where are we, Hoggle? This doesn't look like it's part of the castle at all."

"I don't think it is," said the dwarf, "This place was old before the first cornerstone of the castle foundation was set. Stories say the goblins came from caves long, long ago. They were even stranger then, with eyes the size of dinner plates so they could see in the dark. Don't think they could even talk, not so you or I could understand them, anyway."

Sarah looked up at the craggy ledges running up the cavern walls. She could almost picture them- dozens of goblins hanging off them like bats, wizened little faces peering back down. "I wonder why they stayed here if they had a choice."

"Maybe they didn't. I've heard tell it was safer down here. Magic wasn't as orderly in those times. Not as predictable."

Orderly and predictable weren't exactly the words Sarah would use to describe the Labyrinth _now_, but she didn't argue. "Then why did they leave?"

"Who can tell what goes on inside their heads? Hardly anything sensible, as far as I can tell."

"There must have been a reason, Hoggle."

"I didn't say there wasn't a reason," said the dwarf defensively. His response was so quiet that it was nearly lost among the echoes. "The stories say _he_ called them."

There could be no mistaking the emphasis on the word 'he'- not Jareth, not the Goblin King, and none of the usual outraged distrust. There was an almost reverential tone to the dwarf's speech now, one she'd never heard before. They passed from one cavern to another before he continued. In this one, the walls and ceiling glittered with millions of faceted crystals, some the color of smoke and others clear as water and shot through with veins of silver and gold. Hoggle shuffled along, favoring his bad knee.

"He wasn't king, then. He wasn't anybody, as far as the stories recall, and the Labyrinth didn't look the way it does now. But he traveled far and wide over the land, and he called them. They heard his song from deep underground and crept up through their tunnels out into the light."

Sarah was transfixed. "And?"

"And it changed them. Changed the land, too, I suppose, but my people came later from over the mountains and there's some stories the goblins won't tell to an outsider."

There was a strange beauty to the tale, a goblin myth of creation and first beginnings. Sarah could not imagine what Jareth had been like then- not a king, but a wanderer.

"It sounds like a fairytale, Hoggle."

"Don't know if I believe it myself. Outlandish, it is. But all the goblins I've ever asked tell the same story, so maybe there's some truth to it."

The passage wound its way through the caverns, but with tell-tale signs of human work. The floors were smoothed and leveled, holes drilled into the stone and the leftover debris hastily swept into piles. Hoggle regarded them with disgust. Heavy iron grates had been fitted over recesses in the walls, the stout bars already rusting from the damp. The queen had her own oubliettes.

"Thieves and invaders," grumbled the dwarf, pausing to shake one of the grates as though he would tear it from its hinges if he could, "Destroying whatever they can and spoiling the rest."-

Sarah thought again of the False Alarms. They were living rock set into the castle walls, huge monoliths with roots of granite sunk deep into the earth. They couldn't just pick up and walk away. _But men with picks and shovels could move them,_ she realized, _The queen's men, hammering and __hacking away until nothing was left but rubble and sand. _Sarah felt sick.

Hoggle reached up and gently squeezed her arm as though he could tell what she was thinking. "It isn't as bad as all that. You'll see." The dwarf's voice was gruff, but kind.

Forcing a smile in return, Sarah let the lantern light play upon the corridor stretching out before them and strained her eyes into the darkness ahead. If Hoggle could hope, she supposed she could do no less. The deeper they went into the caverns, the colder it got, and the lantern gave off no heat of its own. Her breath misted in the air.

"I think we've come too far, Hoggle. Didymus can't be down here."

"Oh, he's down here all right," said the dwarf with a reluctant shiver, "You can feel it in the air. Not him, but the queen's people- we're getting closer to those guarded entrances Cian was talking about. My nose might not be as good as Didymus', but even I can smell it."

Sarah turned her face to the breeze that flowed past them and sniffed cautiously. There it was- a faint odor, rank and musky like an animal's den. It grew stronger with each step and warmer drafts from the side tunnels did not disperse it. After a while, the ground began to slope upward beneath their feet. More animal bones littered the corners of the passage, not just mice and rats but small, round skulls that looked almost human. Sarah turned one over and recoiled at the teeth-marks scored deeply along the length of a child-sized jaw bone.

"Don't look." Hoggle's voice was hard as the rock around them. "We can't help them now. All we can do is see that Didymus doesn't end up like them."

Sarah's hand shook and the lantern light flickering uneasily in the gloom. "Jareth wouldn't let anyone do this."

"He already has, may the gods forgive him. I told you, didn't I? Goblins don't go out at night anymore. No one does, if they can help it."

"Oh, Hoggle. How could this happen to the Labyrinth?"

Her friend's shoulders hunched in unhappy resignation. "It wasn't all at once, Sarah. The new queen was all right at first, even though she wasn't... what we expected. But he seemed happy enough, and we had our king back where he belonged. Some of us thought that was all that mattered. By the time she showed her true colors, it was far too late."

"Didymus doesn't think it's too late."

"Didymus wouldn't admit he was beaten even if he were standing on the gallows with a noose around his neck." Hoggle sniffed. "And maybe he's right. The goblins say he was born under a lucky star."

In spite of herself, Sarah smiled. "We could use a little more luck."

They moved faster through the tunnels now, stepping quietly as they could and keeping the lantern close so that its light shone no more than a few feet ahead. Crude brick shored up the cavern walls in spots, and water seeped from them in a constant drip. They came to a sharp turn in the corridor that dead-ended into a stub of a passage.

"Hoggle!" Sarah tugged on her friend's sleeve to draw his attention.

There was a low opening in the wall, one that was smaller than all the others. The heavy iron grate that covered it hung slightly ajar on its hinges.

Ducking head and shoulders through the opening, Hoggle wriggled inside. "Empty," he reported, "But I'd wager he's been here and gone, not too long before us, either."

Silver glinted from the rubble on the cavern floor and Sarah sifted through it with care: tiny metal picks no longer than her finger, some bent nearly in handles had been inscribed with a fine scrollwork of flowering vines and a lion rampant, along with the motto 'Courage sans peur'.

Sarah stared at them in disbelief._ He couldn't have._ The lock bore faint scratches where rust had flaked off. _ Could he?_ Around her neck, the Goblin King's pendant gave forth an almost smug warmth.

The dwarf gave the lock picks a cursory glance, but took his time inspecting the far corners of the cell. "That rascal was always good at getting into places he shouldn't," he said with grudging pride, "Kitchen pantries, especially. Figures he had a trick up his sleeve." Hoggle squeezed out of the oubliette door and stood brushing the dirt from his breeches, far more cheerful now than he had been moments before. "Don't you worry. Mark my words, he'll be waiting for us back at the cottage- and emptying my larder, like as not. We should follow his example and get out of here."

Sarah feigned a cheer she did not feel. "I'm sure you're right."

The oubliette opening was so low to the ground that she would've had to crawl on her stomach to get inside. Sarah crouched on her hands and knees with the lantern before her, peering in. The cell was not a large one, even for someone of Didymus' size. Columns of rock grew from floor to ceiling and the steady drip of water echoed in the far corners. Even with the reassuring glow of the lantern, the walls crowded in close and the sound of her own breath echoed harshly straightened and thrust the handful of lock picks into her pocket.

Jareth's queen had a great deal to answer for.

* * *

In a lonely corner of the orchard, the nettles grew tall. Spines white as frost prickled each stalk, and spotted butterflies sat among the leafy tops, fanning their wings slowly in the sun. Cian took no notice of any of it. The stinging nettle did not bother her, and neither did the tendrils of poison ivy she'd coaxed to grow along its borders. It was just one of the many hiding places she had in the kitchen gardens, so numerous that not even her mistress knew them all. But she could not hide forever; the setting sun turned the sky to a fiery gold, and Ana would look for her soon. Cian did not know what she would tell her.

_I've sent the Runner into the wolves' den. _It was not an explanation her mistress would welcome. Cian breathed in the scent of crushed nettles, rocking back and forth a little in her nest. _She is not alone. I did the best I could._

Her kind did not, as a rule, have long memories. There was no use for them, not when the passing of seasons was their only reckoning of time- the earth was constantly changing and yet unchanged. But Cian would never forget what it was to be so deep underground, beyond the reach of wind and sunlight. Even now the memory stole the afternoon warmth from her body, the fragile human heart she'd been given suddenly leaden and cold. Had she done enough?

Something angular and black launched itself from a nearby tree and a raven landed on a nearby fence. It sleeked its wings and a noise like a dry rattle sounded from the back of its throat. Hopping closer, it pecked the fence post three times, as if to get her attention.

Cian eased herself to a low crouch- slowly, so as not to frighten it. "A message for me?"

The raven croaked softly, ruffling its neck feathers. A hollow reed dropped into Cian's cupped and waiting hands. Inside it was a curl of parchment rolled up tightly and daubed with red wax on either end. Her fingers closed over it quickly.

"I thank you, little brother," she said with a little bow.

In her pocket was a small piece of beefsteak wrapped in an oak leaf, squirreled away for such a purpose. She fished it out gingerly and the raven snapped it up with relish, preening its breast with a blunt, curved beak. The parchment slipped out easily onto Cian's palm. It was only a small scrap of paper, torn off the corner of a larger document and much crumpled. The message was an untidy scrawl, the ink smeared and barely legible.

_Noon tomorrow,_ it read. _Birch grove by the spring._

_

* * *

_

She'd never sworn an oath. Ana reminded herself of this daily, but it had long ceased to be of any comfort to her conscience. That Jareth had never formally asked it of her made little difference- he was the Goblin King, and she owed him more than she could ever repay. Once upon a time, her loyalty to another would've taken precedence, but it was no longer so. Oath-breaker, she would be called in her homeland. Traitor. _Coward._

Ana rubbed the sage leaves back and forth between her hands before letting them fall into the cooking pot. Their spicy scent rose back up on the steam as she stirred them into the simmering broth. Around her, the kitchen rang with friendly voices and the clatter of crockery. She welcomed the activity and how it enveloped her in the bustle and chaos of preparation. This was Ana's sanctuary, and she would not trade it for all the castles in this world or the next. All that remained was to preserve it from ruin.

On the pretext of refilling the salt cellar, she passed by the corner of the kitchen where Sarah stood slicing vegetables for soup. Her absence had not gone unnoticed, but she had not been up in the king's tower, Ana knew. The hem of the her skirt was black with grime, and she smelled of crypt dust and old bones. Yet for all that, she was cheerful enough and bent her head to her work, stealing the occasional glance out the kitchen door to the darkening sky. She caught the housekeeper's eye, nodding briefly before turning away.

Ana closed her eyes against a sudden tide of memory: another girl, tall and slim with her hair curling in short, dark wisps around her face. One hand was pressed beseechingly against the glass, her mouth forming soundless words until the mist between worlds swallowed her altogether. The older woman steeled herself against the sharp ache in her breast, still fresh after so many years.

_So alike, _she thought. _It is only I who have changed._ A generous pinch of salt went into the pot and Ana took up a wooden spoon. She held it for a moment, balanced in her hand as gracefully as any scepter. In her corner, Sarah handled the knife with less skill than enthusiasm in her haste to finish the task. _And what debt do I owe her? _

Aloud, Ana called over her shoulder, "See that your knife is sharp- a dull blade causes more harm."

Sarah obediently reached for a whetstone. The sound of the knife being drawn over it was ordinary and comforting, a rhythmical rasp like waves upon the shore. Hands folded tight, the housekeeper watched over her charge. The remaining daylight slipped further away and the sun glinted off the blade, red as blood on the water. Ana turned away, unable to bear it.

_One queen must fall so that another may rise,_ she thought. _For better or ill, I choose you. _

Knife and whetstone had fallen silent. When she looked back, Sarah was gone.

* * *

Broken stones blanketed with moss and fallen leaves littered the edges of the courtyard. What had been innocuous by daylight was changed by the dark- a section of steps resembled a hunched and twisted figure, and the cracked archway leaning up against the wall tangled in creeper-vine looked like a gaping set of jaws. On a column perched a raven, but at Sarah's approach it took off with a startled croak. She watched as it spiraled up and away past the king's tower. When it was only a distant speck, a figure moved at the tower window. Sarah retreated to the shelter of the courtyard wall, concealing herself amongst the ivy.

Jareth's profile was starkly outlined against the light, unmistakable even in silhouette. A quick motion of his arm and he cast a handful of something into the air. Fine as sand, it swirled this way and that, glittering as it sifted down to where Sarah stood. It dusted her face and hands, and when she tasted it on the tip of her tongue, it was bitter as medicine.

Ash and burnt paper.

When she looked up, the window stood empty. At the base of the tower, torches flared up one by one, leading the way up the spiral stair. Sarah touched the pendant around her neck for luck, but all the confidence it had bestowed upon her earlier was gone.

* * *

The library was dark, the hearth swept clean. On the mantle, a silver clock ticked the seconds, slender hands pointing to eleven and three.

_Less than an hour till midnight._ Cold sweat trickled down the back of Sarah neck from her climb up the stairway, and she wiped at it nervously. Across the room, the door to the side chamber stood open, light spilling through.

The Goblin King's private chamber was neither large nor lavish. Two candle stands with a dozen tapers each stood on one side of the room with two more framing the fireplace. A canopied bed occupied one end with an imposing wardrobe beside it. Half-moon windows stretched along the curved wall every few feet so that one could look out in every direction. Through them, the sky was a dusky field of midnight, one bright star visible far to the south.

"So you've come. I was beginning to think you would not."

Seated with one boot propped up on the window ledge, Jareth was so still he blended into the shadows. He motioned her into the room with a careless gesture, as though it little mattered if she entered or not. This time, the Goblin King was clothed not in black but white, though his gloves were a rich, red-brown leather. The laces of his shirt were undone at the throat, and Sarah caught a glimpse of something as he moved into the light: a thin scar perhaps an inch or two long, centered over the heart. Jareth straightened and it disappeared from view.

"I promised I would. And I always keep my promises."

The Goblin King of old would've had a ready reply to that, smooth and darkly suggestive. This one did not. Jareth merely glanced at her in swift assessment. Sarah was never more conscious of her own appearance than she was in his presence. She'd exchanged her work-soiled clothes for a plain linen gown, but was still acutely aware of how shabby it was by comparison, how the faded embroidery at the sleeves had been mended and re-mended and the hem let down so many times that the fabric was worn to near transparency. The Goblin King gave no sign that he noticed any of it.

"I, too, keep my promises." He gestured again and more candles flickered to light.

The table near the window was large enough to accommodate a feast, but instead it held a large map, the parchment aged to a yellow-ivory.

The Goblin King nodded, but made no move to touch it. "You wanted to know where your knight has gone. Look, then."

Heavy batons of polished rosewood weighted down the sides of the parchment, and Sarah slid them apart as far as they would go. This map was far more detailed than the one she'd seen earlier that day. Brilliant colors leapt off the parchment, scarlet and tourmaline, swirls of cobalt and gold, with each location marked in elegant script. At the center of the map was the Labyrinth, and at the center of the Labyrinth was the castle. Sarah traced the outer boundaries of the maze, but to her consternation, the graceful lines of ink rippled at her touch. Fluid as water, they shifted restlessly upon the parchment, never settling into one place for longer than a moment.

"You cannot map the Labyrinth," said the Goblin King, a faint tinge of amusement entering his voice, "Not truly. It is a puzzle that does not want to be solved." As he spoke, the ink lines solidified once more.

Sarah looked at the map with new distrust. A map ought to tell you how things were, not what they might be. She turned her attention to other portions of the map, being careful not to touch the parchment again.

Jareth had spoken of enemies at the borders, but in truth, the kingdom had few strategic weaknesses. Dense forest stretched north and east with a wide river snaking down through it to feed the Bog. To the south lay sparser woodland and plains, then the shore of a great inland sea. A tiny fleet of dragon ships were inked upon the map and marks placed at points along the coast where watchtowers stood. To the west was the Wasteland, and after that, mountains.

Green jade pebbles sat in twos and threes edging the mountain border, flanking a larger piece of polished lapis lazuli. Sarah picked it up. The stone was a deep blue, a vein of glittering gold running through its heart.

"Didymus." Jareth had come to stand beside her. "The jade stones are the armies at his command."

Hoggle had told her of the goblin soldiers- not the foolish little creatures Sarah had seen before, but much larger cousins- wiry and reptilian with eyes that could see in the dark, bred for battle. It still did not reassure her to think of Sir Didymus leading them, but it troubled her even more to wonder about the enemies he would face.

Across the western border, all along the mountain range were dozens of white quartz pebbles, far outnumbering the green. The sight of them froze Sarah's breath in her throat.

"Do you begin to understand?" asked the Goblin King. "Your knight is in a very risky position, indeed."

Sarah gazed numbly at the white pebbles- so many, against so few. Even a well-trained army had small hope of winning, and the losses would be great. "Who are they?"

"Pawns who heed only the will of their master. Who they are matters little- such an enemy will offer him no mercy and expect none in return."

History books were full of battles, but they'd always seemed like such dry, academic discussions to Sarah. This was all too real. The piece of lapis lazuli was cold and heavy, but when she set it down, the absence of it in her hand felt even worse. She searched Jareth's face for some sign of remorse or concern, but there was nothing but a studied blankness. A flat black stone sat on the edge of the map and he picked it up, idly manipulating it from one gloved hand to the other.

"We never know what we are capable of until we are called upon. Didymus' strength is that he admits no weaknesses." Frowning in concentration, Jareth rolled the stone across the back of his wrist, vanishing it briefly like a conjurer with a coin.

_That's not strength,_ argued Sarah silently. _That's insanity._ "And if he fails?"

"That possibility would never occur to him. He is not troubled by fear or doubt. Some might envy him in that." He set the river stone carefully down in the center of the labyrinth, nudging it into place with the tip of his finger.

"How could you do it? How could you send him there when you don't dare go yourself?"

Anger kindled in Jareth's eyes. "He knows his duty, as I know mine. Do not think to lecture me on how to play games of war."

"If he loses he could be _killed_."

"Anything is possible. Do not think I have failed to consider the consequences."

Sarah refused to relent. "You're heartless."

"You-"

In the next room, the clock struck half past eleven. An errant breeze swept through the room that sent the candle-flames dancing, and Jareth faltered in his speech. He swept a hand over his face, and the moment quickly passed.

"He bears a powerful token. It may be enough to turn the tide of his fortunes."

The pendant around Sarah's neck suddenly felt heavy as a millstone. _Not if it's here with me._

Jareth regarded her warily, as though he were trying to decipher a rare text. "Come. There is something more you should see."

At the far end of the chamber opposite the bed stood a tall, rectangular object. It was nearly half again Sarah's height and wide as the span of a man's arms, draped in heavy blue velvet. Jareth tugged on one corner and the cloth slid to the ground in a whisper.

A mirror.

It was even larger than the one she'd passed through when she arrived in the Labyrinth. This one had a frame fashioned of wood so dark it was nearly black, though glints of amber and gold shone in the grain. Hawthorn and ivy twined up the sides, carved finely so that each individual leaf stood out from the next. In it, Sarah and Jareth were reflected back pale as ghosts. Stripping off his gloves and casting them impatiently aside, the Goblin King touched the surface of the glass.

"Don't-" cried Sarah before stopping herself short.

"Do you think it dangerous?" asked Jareth, unsmiling. "You would be right."

From empty air he plucked a single silver pin and held it up before her eyes. "Give me your hand."

Sarah hesitated only a moment before placing her hand in his own, palm up. The movement of the pin was quick; a bright drop of blood welled up on her forefinger. Guiding her forward, the Goblin King pressed her wet fingertip against the mirror's surface. It was slick and immovable as a glacier, and when Sarah pulled away, her blood left a dark smear upon it like a blemish in the glass.

Jareth still held her tight by the wrist, raising her hand to his mouth. For a moment, she thought he might kiss it but he did not- he only blew upon it, the warmth of his breath banishing the mirror's lingering chill. When Sarah looked down, the blood had gone, leaving no trace of a wound behind.

"What-"

The Goblin King did not let go of her hand. "Watch."

Before, the mirror had reflected back only candle flame and shadows, but now it took on a light of its own, softly silver like the moon.

"You asked what would be worth such sacrifice," he said, holding Sarah's hand so that the light played over her outstretched fingers. "Long ago, these mirrors were made to channel the Labyrinth's wild magic and open doorways to other worlds. Nowhere else is such a thing possible, nor should it be; we were not meant to travel so readily between them."

Sarah's mind raced to comprehend. That there was some means of passage between the Underground and home she knew, though she didn't understand how. But _other_ worlds?

For once, Jareth did not ridicule her ignorance. "Not every mirror contains a doorway. Only certain mirrors... in certain places," He retrieved the length of blue velvet that had pooled upon the floor. "Boundaries exist between one world and the next. You could no more cross them than you could put your hand through this cloth without tearing it. But there are places where the boundaries are thin..." He unfolded the velvet, revealing a worn portion so threadbare it was nearly translucent. "There they might be breached, if enough magic is brought to bear upon it. The Labyrinth is one such place."

Sarah wanted to shake her head, argue with him. It wasn't that simple, it couldn't be. You couldn't just tear a hole in time and space...

Jareth's voice was stern. "Watch."

The mirror-light shimmered, pouring inward as the images upon the surface changed. At first Sarah could make out only vague details and hazy shapes, but then the mirror began to clear, refocusing upon a single picture: white walls and a half-open window streaked with rain, curtains fluttering in the wind. Shock ran over her like cold water. Her apartment. There was the lamp she'd found at the thrift store and her nightstand, piled high with books. The black dress from her mother's funeral lay crumpled on the floor beside the unmade bed, a candle lay overturned in a puddle of melted wax with a wisp of smoke rising from the wick-

It vanished without warning. The surface of the mirror undulated slowly as if something large moved just behind it, and it filled Sarah with dread.

"So many worlds, so many possibilities. If a powerful enough creature could make that crossing into a world without magic, he could rule it with no more effort than a thought." The Goblin King spoke this last part softly, but the words hung in the air as though they were written in fire.

Sarah could not stop herself from asking. "Would you?"

"What makes you think I haven't already done so?"

Too late, she remembered the goblin legends, and what had seemed only a fanciful tale took on a more sinister pall. In the other room, the clock chimed softly to mark the passing of a quarter hour. The mirror's light was a lambent silver-white once more, washing all the color from Jareth's features. He stood close enough to be her shadow, the scent of smoke clinging to his hair and clothing. The smell of it recalled to her a burning candle, with just a touch of sulfur lingering behind.

_Other worlds,_ thought Sarah. And what if all the armies in the Underground were not enough to protect such a secret? _Didymus must know how hopeless this fight is. _But knowing would not deter him from his duty, and Jareth clearly believed the knight to have left already. Sarah realized with a pang that he'd stayed behind long enough to find her, and the delay had put him into grave danger. She pushed the thought away. _There's still time. There has to be._

Jareth spoke, the words a barely audible murmur in her ear. "The only thing less forgivable than failure is not to fight at all."

"I... I understand." Sarah took a deep breath. "Thank you."

The Goblin King did not acknowledge that he'd heard her. He veiled the mirror once more, abruptly extinguishing its light. "The hour grows late. It is time you should be going."

"There's something else I need you to-"

Jareth hissed in exasperation. "I've told you more than any ordinary mortal knows- more than I should. I've brought you here, where no other besides myself has crossed this threshold and stood before this mirror since the Labyrinth was made, and I've done it all because you asked it of me." He seized her arm and propelled her before him. "My promise to you has been fulfilled. All I want in return is one simple thing: I want you to leave. _Now._" With nothing more than that, he began to steer her toward the door.

"I just want-"

The conversation was familiar, yet different, and the discrepancy nagged her thoughts even as she struggled. _Wait._ That was it. She'd asked for information that only he and Sir Didymus knew and he'd given it readily. Why? The Goblin King was more than capable of weaving lies and riddles to keep from divulging what he knew. It had never been a simple matter of her asking for something and receiving it. Unless...

Sarah planted her feet and braced hard. "_Let me go._"

He dropped her arm as though it burned him, confusion mingling with irritation. "You dare-"

An icy gust of wind swept through the chamber, extinguishing all the candles at once. In the next room, the clock began to chime the thirteenth hour, each bell piercingly clear. The notes lingered in the air without fading, their harsh, mingled dissonance sending prickles of unease down the back of Sarah's neck. The Goblin King stood unmoving, head bowed and his face bloodless and still. All the shadows in the room roiled and swirled around him until the white of his clothing stood out in the darkness, billowing like a tattered sail upon his frame. Sarah seized his hand and his fingers closed about hers, squeezing so hard she thought the bones would break. She tried to call out his name, but the wind stole the words as soon as they left her lips. The stones of the tower shook beneath their feet, and from very far away came a brittle crack, like the shattering of a mirror.

The seventh chime had sounded by the time the wind died down. The room was bathed in smoke and starlight, and the fire in the hearth was nothing but ash. Jareth shivered once, like a raptor settling its plumage. He opened his eyes, so pale as to be nearly silver. Awareness and awe flared in them, cold as a dying sun.

"Sarah," He breathed her name so softly that she wasn't certain she'd heard it. Then his face hardened. "You stubborn little bitch..."

The words died in his throat. Turning on his heel like a clockwork automaton, the Goblin King strode toward the window. She caught at his sleeve, but he shook her off impatiently. She persisted and stood directly in his path, stifling an exclamation of pain when his chin cracked a glancing blow across the bridge of her nose.

"Wait..."

It checked his progress only a little. Jareth seemed barely to hear, although he stopped just short of the window, bracing against the archway with both hands. The outline of his body rippled and blurred. Caught between him and the ledge, Sarah felt as much as saw his form began to shift, the shape of the man wavering in and out of the light and the outspread wings of an owl trying to take its place. One moment, Jareth's heart beat steadily against her outspread palms, and the next, she felt the hollow bones of the bird and its heart fluttering like a trapped moth within.

An ugly noise of rage and despair tore from Jareth's throat, his mouth twisted with the effort of resisting the change. "Get out of my way, Sarah."

Relief and apprehension washed over her. He knew her. _This _was the Jareth she remembered, through angrier than she'd ever seen him before. If she was right- if she could compel him with words alone- she could stop this. The power he'd given her might be enough to counter any spell or bewitchment.

She placed her hands atop his shoulders. "Like hell I will. I... I _order _you to stop where you are."

The last chime of the clock cut off abruptly before it was complete and Jareth staggered, grunting like the air had been driven from his lungs. She grabbed at him to keep him upright, but he swatted her away like a gnat, then seized her by the throat. The leather cord of the pendant twisted in his grip until it wound tight around her neck, biting deep into her skin.

Sarah didn't care. She drew his head down to hers, the shock of his mouth warm against her own forgotten as Jareth wrapped her in a fierce embrace. She tasted blood and salt on his lips, each breath like fire until he released the cord. The pendant lay between them, burning so hot that it was like trapping molten metal against her breast. Sarah closed her eyes to the honeyed pain of it, relishing a fleeting ghost of sensation: the furious thrashing of white wings and a shrill cry of triumph, sharp talons that raked her from throat to belly. She gasped without sound and the illusion vanished.

All the stars went out.

When it ended, his hands were tangled in her hair and his forehead was pressed hard against hers as if he could not bear to draw away. The words were half-smothered against her own lips, nearly lost in the harsh rasp of his breathing.

"Command me," he said with a groan, "Command me to stay."

Sarah ran her fingers through his hair, following the curve of his spine damp with sweat. He shuddered beneath her touch, burying his face in her neck.

"Stay," she whispered.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** As many of you have pointed out to me, it's been an embarrassingly long time this story was updated. Thank you everyone for your patience and your lovely reviews. They made all the difference.  
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